


Fluidity

by VoidGhost



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Heavy Angst, M/M, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, altho not technically alternate since this is the future, caleb goes to the future basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-02-26 20:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18724036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidGhost/pseuds/VoidGhost
Summary: After a brutal battle against Ikithon and his lackeys, Caleb Widogast stands alone with the bodies of his friends. And he's desperate enough to do something about it.Or,Caleb flubs dunamancy and has to go to the future to reunite with his friends and the guy he fell in love with. Who don't remember him. And don't know what magic is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was an idea I really liked~  
> Not sure when i'll continue this, as I am focusing a lot on my other work for this fandom and also dealing with finals, lmao. but this was a fun idea im sure ill come back to later!
> 
> hope you enjoy~

“ _ Nein, nein, nein, nein-- _ ” 

The words were a whisper under his breath as he worked, barely thought of, an anxious repetition as he struggled to steady his hands. His books were a mess around him, along with the rubble, the dust, the ashe, the blood from--

A choke sob ripped his throat. He paused in his frantic chicken scratch to swallow back the breakdown threatening to overwhelm him. Tears pricked his eyes and he pushed them back, too. He clenched his fists together and breathed in, out. In, out. 

Once his hands were steady enough, he kept going. He pushed. His studies, they had to be right. He couldn’t afford his theories to go to waste. Not this time. 

He finished his equations with a long stripe of ink soaking through to his pants. It was finished. He hoped. 

Next, the beacon. He risked a glance up at the rubble, the burned books scattered in the once-library. What once was the Cobalt Soul. Now, a part of what was left of the city. 

He caught a splash of pink among the greys and the reds. Lifting himself shakily to his knees, he crawled across the rough ground until the edges of the pink haversack was in his vision. He reached a hand for it and tugged. It didn’t give. He hiccuped. 

It was harder than it should be, he told himself. He shouldn’t have gotten so attached. 

His hands shook as he removed the haversack from the cold, silent blue body. 

Reaching inside, he pulled out the beacon. A smaller one, than what they had before. A piece gifted to him by Essik, to study dunamancy. Technically against the wishes of the Bright Queen, but. Essik had taken a shine to him. 

He took the beacon back to his circle of artifacts. His scribbled notes and spell components. His hand brushed something as he crawled through the rubble. Something green and small. He froze. 

A small hand. Scathed and covered in dirt. Blood staining the fingertips. 

He forced his breath to even. He forced his eyes to keep front. He forced himself to move. 

He placed the beacon in the center of the circle. It pulsed with a white light, like a heartbeat. Like it knew what was coming. 

He sat back down in the circle and began. With shaky hands, a wavering voice, he read his scripts and combined the components needed. The pulse in the beacon grew stronger.

His hands were coated in sticky, fibrotic components. He reached for the beacon. It was warmth against his skin, and he felt the pulsing line up with his own heartbeat. They were in sync, and that was essential. 

He spoke his written script. He never focused his studies on the reincarnation aspect, but he knew enough to guess. He hoped it was enough. It had to be. 

He felt the pulsing increase. It filled his ears like rushing blood. There was a pressure in his head and he closed his eyes. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something that felt like lightning danced across his skin. A moment of vertigo swept through him and he was almost sure he’d open his eyes and be somewhere else. 

He thought of them: of Jester and Beau, Fjord and Nott, Caduceus and Yasha, and almost without any care, he thought of Mollymauk. Their entire group, the Mighty Nein, reunited. 

He felt - something. Like a presence. Or multiple. Surrounding him. He could have sobbed in relief. 

Then the pulsing stopped, and they were gone. 

He opened his eyes. The rubble beneath him. The ruined spell components. The wrecked library. And the bodies. Oh, the bodies. 

Jester was facing him only because he had struggled to get the bag from around her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, thank god, but her body was so still. Half of her body was still buried under rubble from the collapsing library, but that wasn’t what killed her. No, it was the bolt that Astrid had sent through her chest that finished her off. On the outside, she was almost unscathed. Clear blue skin with the Ruby’s necklace still around her neck, and _oh god,_ _what could he say to her mother?_

Caduceus was the farthest away but easiest to spot. Even with all the dirt and blood and ashe that now covered him, his hair was a beacon amidst the sea. The beatle shine of his armor was barely recognizable under all the blood, and he couldn’t be sure if it was entirely Caduceus’ or their teammate’s. Either way, for the second time since becoming a part of the Mighty Nein, Caduceus was cold and quiet and still. 

Beauregard had fought the hardest and he wasn’t okay with that. Her fists were bleeding husks before she had collapsed, but she had left her mark on the people who ruined her library, her second home, and then murdered her third. After that, she wasn’t going to stop until one of them was dead. 

Yasha put her all and he will be forever grateful. They were lucky that her winged appearance intimidated their enemies, gave them a moment of pause where for once, they had the upper hand. It was when Jester first went down that something changed; her skeletal wings grew feathers, long and and sleek white, and Yasha let out a scream that shook the ground beneath them. For a moment, it seemed as if they would win. For a moment, it seemed like they were ready for this, after all. 

And Nott. Nott, his first friend, Caleb’s first friend, because that’s who he is now and she helped him see that. The both of them, with lost names and identities stripped away. For most of the battle, she stayed hidden in the shadows. Firing off crossbow bolts or, once, hitting Astrid with a bullet directly into her chest. That had been satisfying, to see the utter shock roll across her face as she realized a  _ goblin _ , of all things, had just shot her. But then Astrid focused her attention on Nott, and he couldn’t protect her. Thank god they reunited her husband and son and the two are very far away from this. 

And as everyone dropped around him like flies, it was him and Fjord. Fjord, with the power of the falchion and his patron’s will at his back, managed to stay upright the longest. He stood beside Caleb and gripped his arm, full of things they hadn’t said and things they did. Rolling off his tongue in his real accent, the one he kept masked, were the dreadfully familiar words, “We’ll make it work.” 

He fell seconds later, all due to the one Caleb used to love, under a different name, at a different place. Eodwulf unarmed his half-orc and thrust the falchion through his armor, through his chest, through his heart, and stuck into the wall. It disappeared into whatever plane Fjord kept the falchion, but the damage was already done. He watched Fjord slide down the wall with blood dripping down his lip as Eodwulf gave Caleb a self-satisfied smirk, as if their quarrel was only a trivial thing. As if he didn’t just kill the man Caleb fell in love with. 

And then Caleb was alone, and the Master himself gripped his chin and made an offer. Caleb spat in his face, the image of Mollymauk beneath Lorenzo in his mind, prideful and unafraid till the second he died, gave him strength.

Then they left him. They left Caleb, the one man they wanted after all these years, in the rubble of the library surrounded by the bodies of his friends, and maybe they knew exactly what they were doing. Maybe they intended for this to happen just to allow him to go insane again. To admit himself into another asylum and rot there. 

But it didn’t matter. Because he could bring them back. 

Or so he thought. He tried, he did, the beacon was warm in his hands but the pulsing light was gone and he didn’t understand. He did it right, but he didn’t understand. 

With a broken sob that had been straining in his throat, he curled over on the broken floor and pressed the beacon to his chest, crying out for his friends, for his family, for the one he loved. 

It happened again. It was his fault, and _it_ _happened again_. 

-

He doesn’t recall coming back to Xhorhas, nor does he remember slinging the pink haversack over his shoulder. But at some point he had done that, and at some point he had also slipped the Ruby’s necklace around his throat, tied Beau’s sash around his wrist, Caduceus’ armor on his shoulder, Nott’s flask on his hip, Yasha’s book in his holster, and especially, especially Fjord’s bag and all of his belongings. All of the gold, and the ridiculous trinkets Caleb gifted him, and anything that he knew would rightfully belong to him, now. 

He doesn’t recall asking to see the Bright Queen until she’s in front of him, and she’s asked a question he doesn’t remember. 

She looked him up and down and sighed. “I think I know what happened.” 

He held up the beacon, its pulsing light now reduced to a steady glow. “I did the calculations. I read all the information you have on dunamancy. They were supposed to come back. Why are they not here?”

The Bright Queen shook her head. “Even you must know that’s not how it works.” 

“But--” Caleb couldn’t accept that, couldn’t accept that it wasn’t possible. “My studies. I did it right, I know I did, I’ve been working on this for months--” 

The Bright Queen took the beacon from his hands and examined it. She hummed, a wrinkle pinched between her eyebrows. “You  _ did _ do something.” 

Caleb perked up. The Queen turned the beacon in her hands, watching the glow brighten and fade. She had that faraway look in her eyes that Caleb had seen before, when their little group used to look into their personal beacon, before relenting it to the Queen. After a long minute, she blinked and returned to the present. 

“You did do something,” She repeated. “But it is not what you think.” 

He had to know. “Are they alive?” 

The Bright Queen looked back to the beacon. “They will be.” She glanced to the service drow, waiting for commands. “Fetch Essik.” 

Essik stared into the beacon with the same pinched expression, before looking up to Caleb in wonder. He seemed to piecing together what he must have seen. 

“I just want to know if they are alive,” Caleb said, voice small and tense. 

Essik bit his knuckle, an anxious tick Caleb recognized by now. “They...are. Technically. Just not here.” 

“Then where?” 

Essik’s eyes squinted into the distance, his fingers twitching as he did some sort of mental math. His mouth tightened into a line. “About…10,000 years from now. Give or take.” 

Caleb’s breath stuttered. “Excuse me?” 

Essik shook his head, giving Caleb a rare look of pity. “You have sent their souls thousands of years into the future. As you should know, time is fluid in dunamancy. A soul has a set time to be reincarnated at the moment of consecration, but the process is typically done naturally. By you calling the lost souls of your friends to the beacon, their reincarnation process was done...artificially. Issues are to be expected.” 

His throat was dry. His skin felt cold. He barely felt himself speaking as he asked, desperately, “What do I do now…?” 

Essik tapped his long nails on the edges of the beacon. The Bright Queen watched this exchange with a passive expression. 

“We could consecrate you the same way,” Essik suggested. “So when you pass, you will see them again.” 

Caleb shook his head. “I read the books. I know the longer it takes, the less memories you regain.” 

Essik frowned. “I apologize. I do not know what else to suggest.” 

Caleb nodded and smiled, bitterly, up at them. “Do not worry about it. I will figure it out myself.” 

Without retrieving the beacon, he turned and briskly walked out of the Bright Queen’s hall. 

-

He wrote letters. 

He wrote one to the Lavish Chateau, addressing it to Marion Lavorre. In it, he apologized. He told her how amazing Jester was, everything she had done for him. The time she had taken care of him when he was drunk. How she brought Caduceus back from the dead. How much she loved her mother. 

Inside the envelope, he tucked the Ruby’s necklace in with the letter. With a silent apology to her soul, he ripped a few pages from her journal, ones with the Ruby and the Traveler and of them, and folded them delicately inside. He sprayed the sealed envelope with the perfume bottle Jester kept in her bag and set it aside. 

The next letter was to Yeza and Luke, now residing together in Alfield. Waiting for Veth to come home. He apologized that she never will. 

He told them about the brave adventures she had been on, how she had saved his life and sacrificed herself for them. How much she loved them and will be watching over them. In the envelope, he sealed her collection of buttons inside, along with with a couple platinum pieces. 

He wrote a letter to the Blooming Grove, unsure if it’ll reach anyone. He told someone, anyone how Caduceus hoped to solve the problem within the grove and gave his life to it. He told whoever was there that Caduceus used the Wildmother to help them in any way he could; how he gave advice and was a trusting friend. All the incredible sacrifices he made for them. 

He wrote a letter to Kamordah, to the Lionette Winery. He scolded them for how they treated Beauregard; what an incredible woman she came out to be. How she punched a demon straight from another realm; how she knocked sense into him more times than he could count. How she became better than she ever could be under their limitations. What they missed out on. 

He wrote another to Trostenwald, to Gustav. A brief description of Yasha’s achievements. It felt impersonal after the second sentence. 

He scrapped it and rewrote it, to the Southern Xhorhas, with no real address and no real intention of it reaching anyone who mattered. He wrote what they put Yasha through. What she made of herself. And he said how twisted their traditions are, in no real life-changing way but just to express his anger. He apologized to Zuala. He told her that Yasha loved her. 

He sealed it and hoped it got somewhere. 

He wrote to Vandren, but never was able to address it. He wrote what amazing things Fjord had done, how he overcame the deity that taunted him, how he slowly dropped an act and became himself, how he swooned a wizard off his feet. How he broke through the wizard’s shell and inserted himself, dug himself a whole within his heart. How Fjord became so much more than Vandren last knew. 

He left that one on the desk in their room, at their house in Xhorhas. The others were sent off to as far as they could be sent, hoping to meet their mark. He smoothed the crinkled edges of Vandren’s letter and wondered if he’ll ever come searching. 

-

He could do this. He had been studying this for years. Far longer than his experimentations in dunamancy. Far longer than his time with the Mighty Nein. 

It was intended for a different goal. To save another family he lost from his own mistakes. Another family that he had come to terms with. 

Now, though. He was entirely alone. Both families gone due to his carelessness and an Empire that will seek him out again, and again, never to let him be at peace. 

He knew the truth, now. As long as the Empire exists, he will never be allowed to be with the ones he loves. 

He can only hope there is no Empire 10,000 years from now. 

He briefly searched through their belongings in the house gifted to them by the Dynasty. They have been so used to carrying everything on their backs that there wasn’t much to take aside from Caduceus’ cooking utensils. Caleb packed a bag with food and a waterskin, collected as much paper and ink and components as he could. There was no telling what he would see when he made the jump, what he would need. 

Setting up in their -  _ his _ room, Caleb pushed the bed until it was out of the way on the back wall. He set up his components, his books, everything he had been slowly teaching himself. Frumpkin poofed into existence, all on his own, and nudged against Caleb’s shoulder, as if warning him. 

“Everything will be alright, friend,” Caleb promised. “Provided that your plane of existence still exists in the future, you will be coming with me.” 

Frumpkin gave him a stare that he interpreted as everything his reasonable half was saying. There is no guarantee that this will work. 

“I have to try,” He said, voice small. 

Frumpkin  _ mrr’d _ and disappeared again. 

Caleb scribbled out his ritual on paper, replicating the symbols from his notes with blood drawn from his finger. He lit the candle with wax enchanted with a protective charm, rubbed some phosphorus between his fingers, and recited the chant. 

It was ancient, old magic twisted to suit his needs. Dangerous shit he was beginning to doubt he’d ever use. But now: a desperate, dirty wizard, who has fucked up and needs to right some wrongs. 

As he spoke, he felt the familiar tingle run through his fingertips. A crackle popped in his ears. He felt wind rush past his face in the windowless room. The bed behind him shook with the gathering energy, and the candle he kept on his desk lit up without purpose. 

The bloody symbols on the ground turned an eery black as the energy made his hair stand up. The room was getting harder to focus on; even with sunlight pouring through the window, the room grew dark, shadows gathering in his peripherals. 

When the phosphorus on his hands grew hot, almost burning, he acted. He clawed a hand into the empty air and struck something. The invisible lines of Time that were, before, untouchable. 

He dug his fingers in. It was almost like an illusion; the image of his desk on the far wall ripping away like fabric, like what stood before him was a tapestry - and behind it, an endless void of colors he couldn’t name, strings of piercing white unraveling, unraveling, for as long as Time existed. 

Caleb pushed himself on his knees and tore the hole further, until it was human-sized. With that, he stepped through. 

There was no air here, and there was no existing. Wind seemed to ripple by him, like in the center of a storm, but there was no effect on the thick strings of fate that surrounded him. He could hear a cacophony of voices, of sounds, coming from all periods of time, from history to the present to the future, and Caleb knew from his studies, knew that if he listened, he’d surely lose himself. 

But Caleb Widogast had lost himself before. Caleb Widogast had spent a decade surviving his own endless hell. 

And now, Caleb Widogast pushed on. 

He gripped a nearby string, felt the sounds from that time amplify, nearly explode in his ears, but he gripped further along the line and pushed on. Grip, push. Grip, push. 

As for timing, he’d have to guess. If he paused every once in a while to listen, to guess, and he couldn’t recall what spoke to him or who, then he knew it wasn’t the right time. He kept going. Grip, push. Grip, push. Grip. 

He wasn’t sure how long it was until he reached it. Until he found an eruption of noise of things he’s never heard before, of a bell and shouting voices and  _ that’s Nott, that’s Nott! _

Gasping for air that didn’t exist, he gripped the rope with two hands, staring into the spot where he heard it. He could see it: bright lights, tall walls. Loud noises. The smell of something hot brewing. 

_ Of course _ , he thought.  _ Of course she’d still go back to alchemy _ . The thought nearly made him cry. 

He pinched the point of time he wanted. He watched, in that split-second, the previously single, long string flash a bright white, and break apart into dozens of strings. Dozens of possibilities. 

Then it disappeared, and he was there. 

-

The transition between the insanely bright colors of Time to the bright blue sky above made Caleb sigh in relief. It had been headache-inducing, travelling here, and now he felt peaceful. 

Then an unreasonably loud noise made him jump in place and scramble to his feet. He couldn’t place it; it was like someone stepped on a donkey’s tail. 

He sat between buildings, in some dirty alleyway. Except the ground wasn’t dirt like he was expecting, but some sort of smooth rock. No, not really smooth, once he bent down and ran his hands across it. It was rough, like gravel, but as if stones melted together to create a walkway.

The alleyway was shaded from the sun, but at the end, he saw bright sunlight. He made his way towards it and jumped again at that same sound, followed by another, more distant one. It was always monotone, almost mechanical. He would say someone was blowing a horn but he couldn’t hear any other instruments, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. 

Walking out into the sun, he saw a peculiar sight; multiple large objects, mechanical in nature, lined up on what Caleb would call a road, but made of the same stuff from the alley. He saw people inside, through clear windows (which was another thought altogether, but maybe there was a library to do some research) suggesting they were travelling somewhere, but nothing was moving and he couldn’t see any horses. 

He jumped back a bit as he found that, yes, they move, but the lines were moving in opposite directions and only a few feet at a time. 

Before he could ponder about it more, he heard a bell chime go off as someone exited the building beside him. They avoided Caleb’s eye and rushed past, nearly knocking into him as they went. 

Caleb watched them; they wore odd clothes. Possibly expensive, but no armor or protective weaponry, and they didn’t carry a bag or, well, anything. 

His attention was drawn back to the building the person walked out of. Stepping out in front of it, he read the title, gasping: ‘Brenatto Brewery’. 

_ This was it _ . Caleb steadied himself. His hand automatically raised to the blue sash tied around his wrist, running his fingers over the soft fabric. Then he lifted a hand and pushed the door open. 

The bell chimed above the door and Caleb blinked. There were no candles, or use of magical light, to make the inside as bright as it was. Caleb couldn’t pinpoint the source at first; then saw glowing panels in the ceiling. A new form of magic? It would make sense for magic to advance in so many years. The idea made him excited to learn everything he could about it. 

“Ah-! Hello, sir!” 

Caleb looked up and was proud that he didn’t collapse at that moment. Standing behind the counter, wearing an apron, bandages and mask gone for good, was Nott the goblin, giving him a weary once-over. 

His good mood was only dulled by the lack of recognition in her eyes. 

“We’ll be with you in a moment,” Nott said, then hastily disappeared from the counter. 

Cautiously stepping forward, Caleb heard a hushed conversation: 

“Jester, I think it’s one of those homeless guys you talk to.” 

“Oh! He probably wants a coffee!” 

His heart  _ sung  _ at the accented voice. He could cry tears now and wouldn’t stop. 

“Whatever you give him, you have to pay for it, okay?”

“Duuuh, of course!”

To distract himself, Caleb examined the sign above the counter. He recognized the simple ‘black coffee’ but the rest were…interesting variations he couldn’t fathom. 

A spritely blue tiefling appeared in front of him, and he almost made good on that promise. 

“Hi!” Jester said, leaning on the counter, and she was so familiar and so not. Her horns twisted the same way, she had the same smile, but her dress was far different than he’s seen before. It was decorated with a pattern of brightly colored donuts with a pink apron tied around her waist. It was flashy, not unlike her, but unlike any dress Caleb has seen before. But the most chilling difference was the distinct lack of her warm healing aura, a feeling he never realized he would miss. 

“Sir?”

Caleb jerked back up to Jester’s eyes. She was watching him, concerned, and he realized she asked a questioned. “Ah, sorry. What did you say?” 

Jester smiled, but it was subdued. “What would you like?”

Caleb looked back up at the menu, but his courage diminished at the words he didn’t understand. Jester must have seen his fear and giggled. 

“How about just a regular coffee?” Jester suggested, tapping some buttons on….something shaped like a block on the counter. “We have some of Nott’s brew in the back to add some spice, if you want.” By her coy smile, Caleb could guess what that meant. 

“Ah,  _ nein _ . Just a regular coffee, please.” 

Jester tapped a couple more buttons. A little screen facing him on the block-thing read, in small green text, ‘$1.07’. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jester said, waving a dismissive hand at him. “Unless, of course, you want to pay, which I won’t say no to, but if you can’t, that’s alright!” 

Caleb blinked owlishly, too caught on to the odd price to respond. He didn’t recognize the symbol, nor could he understand how the amount could be a fraction. 

Jester had disappeared from behind the counter and he heard the rumbling of a machine. Leaning over the counter, he caught her form lifting a cup under a spout of a large machine that shook under the effort to spurt dark liquid in the cup. The scent that hit Caleb was undoubtedly rich coffee, and he sighed, closing his eyes. 

He made it, somehow. He found Nott and Jester, and he needed to find the others, but for the first time since he saw Ikithon standing above the bodies of his friends, he felt hopeful. 

There were challenges he’d have to face, of course. Their memories, for one. He hoped he could somehow trigger the memories to flow again. It wasn’t impossible; in fact, from his notes, it was rarely studied. Consecuted souls were rarely reborn so long after they died. For the few that were born every thousand years or so, memories get lost, and it takes longer for the trigger to happen. No soul is born after 10,000 years and known to get all their memories back. 

When he opened his eyes again, Caleb startled at finding himself already being watched. Nott had reappeared somewhere from the back of the brewery and stood behind the counter, watching him. She had an odd, pinched expression, her eyes narrowed and faraway. When he met her gaze, she came back to herself, blinking and casting Caleb another, unreadable glance before hiding away in the pantry. 

Jester came back a moment later, snapping an odd shiny lid on top before picking a pencil from her apron’s pocket. Which was an odd pencil, that also had a cap. 

“Can I get a name?” Jester asked, in a way that told Caleb that this wasn’t necessary, but she was curious. 

He coughed, and in a croaky tone, said, “Caleb. Caleb Widogast.” 

Jester’s hand went slack around the pencil and she studied Caleb’s face. For a moment, a pass of recognition came across her face, and Caleb’s hopes lifted. Then she shook her head and scribbled something on the cup, before sliding it across the counter. 

Caleb picked it up and briefly inspected it. It was paper, which was new. He had never seen cups made of paper and not soak through. Maybe he could detect magic once he found a secluded corner. 

Turning the cup, he found his name scrawled in black ink in Jester’s fine penmanship. He ran a thumb over it and marvelled at how quickly it dried, and then wondered how a pencil was able to draw ink. 

“Sooooo?” Jester interrupted, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Are you gonna drink it?”

Caleb huffed a laugh at her eagerness. He lifted the cup to his mouth after he found the odd slit in the lid, and the warm liquid awakened his senses. He hummed, content, and he heard Jester giggle. 

“ _ Danke _ ,” He murmured. 

Jester perked up. “Are you Zemnian? Like all those fancy school people?”

Caleb startled. Stuttered, “Ah, yes, I am. School people?”

“Yeah, like those guys at Soltryce,” Jester said. “I don’t know a whole lot about it, but my friend Beau says it’s suuuuper expensive and stuff, and some people who graduate end up being like, part of the government or something.” 

Nott appeared again, lifting herself onto the counter. “Beau also says it’s a conspiracy.” 

Jester grinned. “I know, right? Beau’s so smart.” She twisted a lock of blue hair in between her fingers, bashful. Nott rolled her eyes. 

Hearing the mention of Beau helped that seed of hope grow. He sipped at his coffee again, eyeing the blue sash around his wrist. 

“Caleb, right?” Nott asked, and Caleb snapped to attention. “Do you….need anything? For the night?” 

Caleb cocked his head at her, until he recalled the hushed conversation earlier. “Oh. No, no, I should be fine.” He looked out the window, even though he knew what time it was without checking. “Is there a library nearby?”

“Oh! Our friend Beau works at the one near the college!” Jester said, excited. “The Cobalt Soul. I would take you, but I think it closes before our shift is over. Right, Nott?” She looked to Nott with a pleading look, her tail flicking behind her. 

Nott chuckled. “If there’s no one here at 5, you can leave early.” 

Jester squealed. “Thank youuu!” She turned to Caleb. “If you don’t mind hanging around for a bit ‘til then?”

Caleb shook his head. “Not at all.  _ Danke _ .” 

The bell chimed behind him, and that was his cue to move to one of the tables in the shop. The Brenatto Brewery had small round tables with cushioned seats and booths along the walls. Caleb tucked himself in a booth and dug out his components. Placing his cup on the table, he did his usual ritual for detect magic. It was non-magical. 

“Interesting,” He murmured. 

He spent the next couple hours taking inventory of his items. He luckily didn’t lose anything in the jump. He flipped through his spellbooks and the haversack still wrapped over his shoulder. He had tucked the flask in the bag since it wasn’t secured on his hip; he definitely would have lost that in the jump. 

After that, he played with his magic. He cast detect multiple times to see if he could see anything on the customers coming and going, or any item within the shop. Strangely, there was none, not even on the odd lights in the ceiling. Perhaps some advanced candlelight invented within the past 10,000 years. 

He snapped his fingers at some point and was relieved that Frumpkin appeared beside him. The fey was all too happy to see him. He nudged his head into Caleb’s hand and graciously accepted pets, chirping excitedly the entire time. For a fey, 10,000 years isn’t incredibly long - but time still passed as it usually did, and to Frumpkin’s perspective, it had been a while without Caleb. 

“I’m sorry, friend,” Caleb murmured. “Hopefully we are here for a long time.” 

He poofed Frumpkin away again when a customer gave him a strange look. Instead, he started picking through the contents of the haversack. 

He found Jester’s holy symbol of the Traveler. He held it in a fist for a moment, examining the engraved shape of the open door. Ran his fingers over it. 

He felt ridiculous, but, “Ah. Traveler, sir. If you are still around after so long, I could use some guidance.” He closed his eyes, thinking about all the times Jester told them about the Traveler and how he had helped her for so many years. 

When he opened them, he was still alone. 

He sighed. He never really had luck with divine sources. He tucked the holy symbol back into the haversack and kept digging. 

He found Jester’s typical array of items, some more ridiculous than others. He would pick them and admire them fondly, before tucking them back inside the bag. There was another bag of holding in the haversack that he avoided, one that he’s familiar enough with the contents that he doesn’t want to risk a flooding of memories in the middle of a coffee shop. 

He picked up a novel that made a rush of fondness rush through him as well as a snort.  _ Tusk Love  _ has somehow survived this long and was in surprisingly good condition. To spend the last chunk of time at the brewery, he flipped through the familiar book. 

He was interrupted not long after, to Jester putting another hot cup of coffee on the table. In her hand was a tall transparent cup of something creamy with sprinkles and a drizzle of chocolate on the top. 

Momentarily forgetting where he was, Caleb asked, “What  _ is  _ that?” 

Jester startled, looking down at the cup. She giggled, stirring it with a long tube in the drink. “A tall latte with extra cream and sugar and a chocolate drizzle. I have a sweet tooth.” She pushed the fresh cup of coffee towards Caleb. “I got you another for the walk. Ready to go?”

“Ah,  _ ja _ . Give me a moment.” He tucked the book back into the haversack, fixing everything on his person back in place, and took the warm coffee between his hands. He stood up from the booth and shifted uneasily under Jester’s stare. 

“That’s a cute bag,” She commented, pointing to the bright pink haversack. 

“It is,” Caleb agreed. “It was…a gift from a friend.” 

“Your friend has good taste,” Jester said, giggling again, before leading Caleb out the door. Just before they left, she tossed a wave at the counter. “See you tomorrow, Nott!” 

Nott waved a towel from the back room, and Caleb half-lifted a hand, a tugging within him not wanting to leave Nott out of his sight again. He watched Nott’s expression falter, as if thinking the same thing, and then the door closed and Jester was bounding down the sidewalk. 

Taking a steadying breath, he followed. 

“Are you new to the area, Caleb?” Jester asked. “I mean, I just like, give money to the other homeless around Zadash, and I haven’t seen you around before, so I was just wondering.” 

“Oh, I suppose you could say that.” 

“Well, if you ever need anything, you can come back to the shop,” Jester suggested. “I can always afford a regular coffee. Oh!” She clapped her hands together, struck with an epiphany. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Beau’s library, the Cobalt Soul, has a super-secret fight club. Are you any good at fighting, Caleb?”

“Ah, I can,  _ ja _ .” 

“Ooh! Then maybe you can earn some extra cash. If you can beat the monks, that is.” She giggled, pausing to take a sip of her tall cup of sweetness through the tube.  

“I could try.” In reality, Caleb wouldn’t stand a chance against the kinds of monks Beau knew. He still had this magic at least, and he wasn’t in need of coin, but the new system of currency had thrown him for a loop. If their entire wealth of gold is worthless now, then he needs a new plan. 

“Beau is really nice, by the way,” Jester said, stirring the contents of her…latte, Caleb believed she said. “She can be kinda grumpy, and she might be since she’s been there all day, but I got her two of Nott’s best cookies, so she should be happy after that. Anyway, she’s nice as long as you’re not bossy or anything.” 

“I see.” Oh, how he missed Beauregard and her attitude. He missed arguing with her. When he had the chance, he would let her have Frumpkin as the one-ounce owl again. “So, ah, that goblin girl…Nott? She runs that brewery?”

“Oh yes! She worked for a long time at  _ Moonbucks _ to get it - also she got an inheritance from like, her memaw or something, that was like almost a million, and it gave her enough to buy a building and start her own business! She always had a good idea to have a coffee shop place but with the option of spiked drinks. Pretty awesome, right?” 

“That is admirable.” No mention of a husband or son. Which was odd to Caleb, since Nott was such a mother that it should have carried over--

And then it struck him. Nott was still a goblin. Nott was still  _ Nott _ . 

Something must have happened when he was consecuting their souls. Something must have happened that caused Nott to stay a goblin - only this time she was never Veth. 

_ Schiesse.  _ Another problem to fix. 

“It is, isn’t it? She let me work there when I first got to Zadash ‘cause I had trouble finding a job. And she gives jobs to her friends, too, so if you come around enough, maybe she’ll let you work there!” Jester nudged his shoulder. “But yeah! If you do, Beau likes to come in the mornings before her shift at the library, and Caduceus only works part-time but he makes the best tea ever, and when the ships all come in down at the Coast, Fjord likes to work for a month or two.” 

At the mention of Fjord, Caleb’s heart skipped. Of course he went back to the water, it always called to him. But according to Jester, there was no telling when he’ll return. 

“I can put a good word in, too, if you want,” Jester continued, not noticing Caleb’s pained expression. Before he could struggle for a conversation, she pointed to a large incoming building. “That’s it!” 

So, the Cobalt Soul really did rebuild after the wreckage the other day. Er, after it wrecked 10,000 years ago. 

There was a long staircase leading up to big double doors appearing to be made of marble. Jester pushed them open a crack, giggled, and reeled back. “Okay, okay, okay! She’s distracted, let’s be quiet, okay?”

Caleb only nodded and Jester gently pushed the doors open. The library was big, much bigger than the old design Caleb was accustomed to. He stood for a moment gawking at it, at the multiple floors and endless bookshelves, until Jester nudged him. 

Below, in front of them, was a large desk. Behind the counter, was this new version of Beauregard. Her hair shaved back, piercings in her eyebrow, nose, and lip, wearing a sleeveless shirt with a coat on the chair behind her. She had strings in her ears and she appeared deaf to the world, her eyes closed and her hands moved, fingers looped as if holding sticks, and coming down as if to bang on an invisible instrument. Her head bobbed and her tongue stuck out the edge of her mouth. 

Jester giggled and motioned with a finger to her lips.  _ Be quiet _ . Caleb nodded and followed her as she crept up to the desk. 

Beauregard was lost in her own world. Caleb couldn’t make sense of it. As they got closer, he started to hear a distant, loud, fast-paced music, emanating from the wires in Beauregard’s ears. Whatever they were, they completely silenced the outside world to her. 

Jester snickered as Beau hit an invisible instrument enthusiastically. She raised her hands above her head, tightened them into fists. Then, without a moment of warning, she slammed them onto the desk directly in front of Beauregard. 

Beauregard nearly leaped from the chair as she ripped the wires from her ears, gasping in surprise. Her terrified expression quickly soured into offense at seeing Jester. 

“ _ Jes! _ ” Beauregard said, indignant, and reached a hand out as if to grab her across the desk. Jester stepped back out of the way, and giggled. 

“I couldn’t pass that up!” Was Jester’s excuse. It didn’t seem to satisfy Beauregard, who scoffed and stood up from her chair. 

“I work here, Lavorre, I can easily kick you out,” Beauregard threatened, without making any move to do so. 

Jester leaned on the counter and grinned, innocently, up at Beauregard. “But you won’t.” 

Beauregard scoffed again, a faint blush on her face, and sat back down. She glanced over at Caleb, eyes scanning him up and down. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Caleb!” Jester put a light hand on his arm to introduce him. “He wanted to come to the library, so I brought him!” 

Beauregard examined him for a moment, and it seemed as if she was staring at the sash tied around his wrist. Caleb raised a hand to brush the fabric, opened his mouth to say something--

“You didn’t get me a coffee, Jes?” Beauregard broke her gaze away from Caleb’s coffee cup and looked to Jester with playful accusation. 

“I did you get something!” Jester reached into the pocket of her dress and revealed a package of cookies with a label of  _ Brenatto Brewery _ tied with a ribbon. 

Beauregard grinned and snatched it from her, immediately tossing the ribbon and reaching in the bag. She glanced to Caleb just as she took a bite. 

With a half-full mouth, she asked, “You got a library card?”

Caleb shook his head. “Do I need one?”

Beauregard swallowed, shook her head. “Nah. Just can’t check any books out.” She spun in her chair and pointed to the back of the first floor. “That’s the kids’ section. Just a bunch of toys and books. Second floor has computers if ya need to look something up, we just new ones last summer. Textbooks are on that floor, too. Everything is coded by genre. Come to me if you have any questions.” She took another bite of the cookie. Slightly muffled, she said, “That’s the end of my spiel.” 

“ _ Danke _ , Beauregard.” He nodded to Jester. “ _ Danke _ , Jester.” He broke away from them and began approaching the stairs to the second floor. 

“Come back to the brewery anytime!” Jester call out after him. He offered a wave and climbed to the second story. 

Behind him, he heard a hushed voice ask, “Did you tell him my full name?”

He quickened his pace up the stairs. 

The new Cobalt Soul was massive. He browsed past the bookshelves on the second floor. He pulled one textbook out from random, and was taken aback by the hard cover, not at all leather bound like he expected. He was fascinated by how clean the title and image was - which appeared to be about something scientific, but Caleb couldn’t make sense of it. 

It was odd, how different everything was. He had never felt so clueless before. 

He wandered through the shelves, unsure of what he was looking for, when he came across a new section. There were small desks, arranged in booths in the back of the second floor. On top of the desks were these flat… _ things _ , with a line of buttons beneath it not unlike the one he saw at the brewery. 

Curious, he approached a desk. There was a chair provided that he sat down in and leaned over the weird box. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, to do, until he caught notice that he was not the only one in the room. 

There was another stranger in the library, some half-elf perhaps, and Caleb casually leaned back in the chair to spy on them. They hunched over the desk with their hands over the buttons, typing away. On the box in front of them, it looked as if words appeared. Caleb watched in awe - it was like a printing press, a rare machine he’d only ever seen once, by a rich professor who wrote textbooks for Soltryce. 

A moment passed, and the stranger used the odd round-thing with a wire attached to do something else on the box, before tapping away again. 

Satisfied, Caleb turned back to the machine in front of him. It was already on and showed an image of a waterfall with icons hovering over it. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on the round object and moved it. 

A small pointer appeared on the box. He hummed, dragging it around the area and was disappointed when it remained within the box. He found applying pressure where his fingers naturally set made the round-thing click. 

It took him awhile to find the purpose for that. He clicked over multiple spots across the waterfall to find nothing happening. Then, he hovered the pointer over an icon and clicked, which surprised him when the entire surface of the box changed. A lone empty rectangle sat in the middle of a white background. 

He dragged the pointer over to the bar and clicked it. A flashing line appeared in the rectangle. 

Caleb huffed. Now what?

On a whim, he tapped one of the buttons. Each one was labeled with a different letter, and he was pleasantly surprised to find the letter he tapped appeared in the rectangle. 

Tapping the buttons one at a time, he spelled out ‘zadash’. Fumbled for a moment when nothing happened, then dragged the pointer to the button on-screen that said ‘search’ - and why that wasn’t a button he could tap confused him - and the screen changed again with lines of results. He clicked again on the first line of text in blue. 

The city of Zadash still exists, after all this time. It is still the center of the Empire, but Rexxentrum is the capital. Soltryce Academy still exists, too, but strangely, Caleb read no mention of studies of magic. No Cerberus Assembly. The Academy is now a college that specializes in law practice. 

In fact, a plain search of ‘magic’ doesn’t bring up anything aside from fairytales. Magic doesn’t exist here. 

The idea had Caleb leaning back in his chair. He summoned Frumpkin again, just to be sure he could. The cat poofed into existence on the desk and cocked his head at Caleb. Caleb scratched behind his ears before poofing him back into his plane of existence. 

So, magic does exist. Just no one knows about it anymore. 

He spent a long time searching other terms to determine why that is. The only information he found was that this new society was only around 2,000 years old - or, considered themselves to be that old. Something had caused their civilization to entirely reset, and excuse magic out of the equation. 

It was fascinating, but it put him in a worse position than before. He would have to keep his abilities on the down low until he found out more. 

For the next couple hours, he researched terms he heard before coming here. ‘Computer’ was one, and that’s when he learned what he was using to search up these words. He also found some other devices that looked small but complicated - miniature computers. 

He found out those machine things he saw in tight lines outside the brewery were ‘vehicles’, or ‘car’, a type of new carriage without horses. Although, he kept reading that they’re powered with ‘horse-power’ and was unsure how it worked. 

He educated himself on the terms of the modern-day, without knowing if they’re accurate or if he will ever learn everything. 

It was all confusing and new and he wasn’t sure about anything. 

He was interrupted with a tapping on his shoulder. Turning, he found Beauregard leaning against a desk nearby. 

“We’re closed, dude.” She had those wires in her ears again, and he couldn’t help inspecting what the computer called ‘earbuds’. 

“Sorry,” He said, standing up from the desk. He must have done something wrong, because Beauregard sighed, leaned over the desk, clicked something on the computer to close out the search window, and then clicked something else that made the computer turn black. 

Then she stood up, gave Caleb another once-over, and lead him back down the stairs. The library was silent aside from their footsteps, and Caleb saw that the sky had gotten dark since he came in here. 

“So, Jester told me you were interested in our ‘club’,” Beauregard said, casting him a sidelong glance. “No offence, but you don’t look like the fighting type.” 

“I know a thing or two.” Although, he’s started to rethink this, since magic is usually all he has. 

“Well, if you need to earn some extra cash, you can always join a bet,” Beauregard suggested. “Or try to take one our champions on, I always enjoy someone getting their ass kicked.” 

Caleb huffed a laugh, and he caught Beauregard’s smile. “I could always try.” 

“Good luck then, man.” Beauregard stopped at the large double doors and held one open. “If you want, come around at about midnight. That’s when we usually open our doors.” 

“I will probably be here.” Caleb stepped out into the cool night and turned to face her. “ _ Danke _ , Beauregard.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know my full name?”

Caleb pointed to her shirt. “Your name tag.” 

Beauregard looked down and, in fact, her name tag read ‘Beauregard L.’. She scoffed a laugh. “‘Course. Sorry. Just thought you looked familiar.” 

“Hm. Maybe in another life.” That was all the teasing Caleb could endure before the reality of it crashed down on him. “Have a good night, Beauregard.” 

“Yeah. You too.” Her voice was strained, like he said something she didn’t like. But he didn’t bother to figure it out, instead turning on his heel and walking down the stairs to the sidewalk. 

Behind him, he heard the goliath doors close and a lock slide into place. He paused beside the road, looking up at the streetlights illuminating the area, and tried to understand this new, unfamiliar world. 

He sighed.  _ What now? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First rule of fight club is no magic allowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! I recently revisited this story and kicked myself to finish the next chapter. again, can't promise another update soon, but this is a really fun AU to write. Hope ya'll enjoy this one <33

Caleb walked up and down the street, counting the seconds that ticked by. There were significantly less people out on the streets this late at night, and less of those vehicles on the road. Occasionally, however, one would fly by at speeds that startled Caleb; nothing like the slow crawl from earlier. 

There were a lot more buildings in Zadash than he remembered. Taller, too. In front of one, Caleb paused outside and counted the windows. He moved to the next and counted. And the next. When he had traveled a block, the tallest one had twelve floors. 

The artificial lights that made the streets shine puzzled him. Caleb had done research on it, but nothing he found could have prepared him for the lack of stars that resulted from these lights. He wasn’t an expert on navigation - his only skills in that department being his inane ability to tell which way was north - but even so, the lack of stars made him feel nervous, lost. He and Nott would point out constellations when they traveled together, when it was just the two of them and they camped out under the night sky. It took him too long to figure out the streetlamps and glowing windows from the nearby buildings were what blocked out the sky. 

He walked for a long time and he still had an hour to kill. Out of mild curiosity, he walked into a building shining like a beacon in the night. Clear windows that showed lines of shelves with shiny goods he couldn’t see from outside. 

As he stepped up to the doors, he startled as they slid open by themselves. He froze, his mind jumping to advanced magic, already creating theorems in his head. 

After a moment, they slid close again. Caleb hesitantly took a step forward. They slid open, and he took a leaping step into the building before the doors closed again. Once he walked inside, they shut behind him. 

Caleb sighed in relief, but found someone watching him with narrowed eyes. A feminine dwarf woman sat behind another one of those box machines - a  _ cash register -  _ that he saw Jester use earlier, but she wore a different uniform. She watched him with something like suspicion, but mostly confusion. Caleb tucked the collar of his coat up further and rushed behind a shelf. 

The shelves were lined with shiny packages that had brightly colored titles. Curious, Caleb picked one up and examined it. It crinkled in his hand. An illustrated fire surrounded a hot pepper, and beside the image was a sliced potato. When he pressed his fingers against the shapes inside, he found they easily broke. 

He moved down the shelves and examined the different bags. It all seemed to be a variety of flavors that the shop offered. Further down the shelf, there was other snack foods in the shapes of cakes and cookies. It was when he was fingering the few pieces of gold coin in his pocket that he realized he was starving. 

His last full meal had been over 10,000 years ago, and he’s only drank two cups of coffee since then. His stomach growls at the realization. 

The coins in his pocket felt heavy. A moment of consideration; eyes darting from the bags to the cookies and he thought,  _ Jester would like one of those _ . And that sold the idea. He picked up two of the bags, one with a block of cheese on the label and the other with the hot pepper. Then he picked up a package that held two miniature round cakes, and another with two cookies stuck together by some sort of creme. On his way to browse the rest of the store, he passed a wall with a line of doors and a variety of bottles behind them. 

Many he didn’t recognize, such as a transparent bottle with some sort of brown, bubbly liquid that looked unappetizing. He found a bottle labeled with ‘fresh spring water’ and added it to the stock in his arms, momentarily distracted by the pleasant cool air behind the glass.

With his goods, he walked back through the store and up to where the worker was at the register. The dwarf woman stood up on a stool to reach the counter and eyed him suspiciously as he set his goods down. She grabbed the items one-by-one and held them under some sort of light beneath the register, which triggered a beeping sound. Caleb watched the process, fascinated. 

When she had scanned through all the items, she looked at him expectantly. Caleb read off the register’s screen, ‘$14.28’. 

He fumbled the coins from his pocket and heard the dwarf woman sigh. He counted out three gold and set them on the counter hesitantly. Coughing, he asked, “Will this cover it?”

She looked down at the gold pieces, up at Caleb, then back down. She stroked her beard and raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you serious?”

Caleb opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. So his gold  _ was _ useless, then. 

The dwarf woman sighed again. “Look. I can’t just take whatever you folks find in the streets. Pawn it off for cash if it’s actually somethin’ valuable. But I can’t accept this.” She gestured to the coins on the table. 

Caleb hummed. The pain in his stomach grew. Thinking last-minute, he reached for the sand and the rose petals kept in his component pouch. The dwarf woman narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Now, don’t go causin’ any trouble,” She warned, reaching a hand under the counter. “I know neither of us want to deal with the cops at this hour--” 

Before she could finish her tirade, Caleb rolled the petals into the sand and blew it in her direction, whispering a hushed, “ _ Sleep _ .” 

The sand blew across the dwarf’s face. Her eyes fluttered. She swayed. Then she collapsed off the stool and onto the tile floor below. 

Caleb winced at the sound of her fall, but he couldn’t waste the time he had. He stuffed the items on the counter into his many coat pockets before rushing towards the exit, leaving the gold coins on the counter. On his way out, he stopped at glass door, eyeing a bottle with a clear label of alcohol content. He twisted the cap off as he rushed through the sliding doors and swallowed half the bottle. 

He kept walking until he was sure he was a good distance from the store. There was no one in the streets and no one watching him. He finished off the remainder of the beer and tossed it into one of the large garbage bins in an alley. Taking a moment for himself, he leaned against the brick wall and tried to calm his breathing. 

The buzz of alcohol wasn’t enough to numb the reality settling into him. A new time, a new place. He doesn’t understand the rules, the technology, or anything about this new world. 

He doesn’t belong.

He fiddled with the top of the water bottle until he managed to unscrew it, chugging down a quarter of the bottle as his hands struggled to stop shaking. 

He didn’t notice there were approaching figures until he felt someone knock the bottle from his hand, pressing a hand to his chest and something cold against his stomach. 

“Give us the bag or I’ll gut you like a fish, fucking bum,” was whispered harshly in his ear. There was a click as whatever it was jammed into his side pressed harder. “ _ Now _ .” 

Caleb was a wizard. He managed to jump through time by 10,000 years. Currently, he believed he was the only wizard in all of Exandria. But he was scrawny, weak, and his magic worked best at long distance. The figure pressed against him had a weapon on his stomach and Caleb wasn’t familiar enough with the day’s technologies to take the chance that it’s not lethal. 

There was a second figure that roughly tugged the haversack over Caleb’s head. The weapon was removed from his side so Caleb began to reach for his component pouch, mouthing out the words to  _ Hold Person _ when a fist connected with his jaw, sending him to the filthy alley ground. 

By the time he regained his senses, the muggers were gone. 

“ _ Scheisse _ ,” He muttered, reaching a second time for his component pouch, only this time using a twig to cast  _ Locate Object _ . 

The bag hasn’t gone far, yet. The thieves were sprinting away back towards the direction of the library, the bag a dull glow to Caleb’s eyes that he could see through the buildings. Counting down to ten minutes, Caleb sprinted after them. 

He resisted the urge to use magic to aid him as he began to lag behind the thieves. They were much more familiar with the shortcuts between buildings and the winding streets. But he knew he might have to use another spell to regain the bag back, so he held on to what remaining energy he had left. 

As he darted across the street, following the glowing silhouette of the pink bag like a beacon, he didn’t notice the vehicle approaching him until it unleashed a startling horn, making Caleb yell out and trip. His hands scraped painfully against the asphalt and the car honked again, bright lights nearly blinding him. 

Caleb scrambled to his feet and hurried off the road, rubbing the flash of lights from his eyes, and as he looked around again, he realized his ten minutes were up. 

In front of him, however, was the library. With Beauregard’s offer ringing in his head, he realized it after midnight. 

Looking up and down the street, he couldn’t spot the figures that had mugged him, or any faint glow of the bag. He glanced back at the building, and he remembered Beauregard mentioning something about bets. 

It was worth a shot. 

He approached the large front doors and pressed his hands to the glass, trying to see inside. The library itself was dark and empty, and when he tried the large handles, they kept. 

Luckily, he was familiar with criminal entrances. As he stepped back down the steps and made his way down the side of the building, he kept an eye out for any doors that were easily hidden from sight, or guarded. 

It didn’t take him long to find it. At the very back of the library, there was a rusting metal door with an unlocked padlock hanging by a chain around the door handle. In addition, there was a thumping sound of distant music that seemed to vibrate the ground Caleb stood on. 

Opening the door, it was dark. With the dim light from distant street lamps, Caleb could see the silhouette of a long case of stairs. Taking another breath, hoping he was right that the thieves hid themselves down here, he let the door shut behind him. 

Feeling his way along the wall, Caleb stepped down the flight of stairs. It was dark for a long time, and he felt like he was going deep underground. By the time he saw light flickering at the bottom of the steps, he was blinking to get used to the light. 

He stepped into a large arena-like room. There was a thick crowd surrounding a stage, where two unfamiliar people were duking it out. From a distance, Caleb could tell that they were wearing tight clothes, not exactly the monk vestiges he was used to, or anything even remotely Cobalt Soul. It made him wonder if this place was truly run by them - if they were still a functioning organization. 

Down here, the crowd almost drowned out the music thumping in the background. The drums seemed to reverberate inside Caleb’s chest, but looking around, he couldn’t see a band or any source of the music. 

_ Technology _ , he thought, and scoffed. 

He kept his head down as he moved past the crowd, trying to pick out any familiar faces. It was dark, the room only lit by dull flickering lights in the ceiling and some light spilling out of doors on either wall. Caleb was so focused on looking at his new surroundings that he didn’t notice someone approaching until his arm was grabbed. 

“Cayy-leb!” Jester said in her shrill cadence, high over the sounds of the crowd and music. “You came!” 

“I did,  _ ja _ .” Past Jester, Caleb could see Beauregard approach. 

“You goin’ in the ring, Widogast?” Beauregard shouted over the noise. She pointed a thumb at the stage. “Heard there’s a big prize tonight.” 

Jester laughed. “No way, Caleb, she just wants to see your ass kicked.” 

“Who says I would let that happen?” Caleb asked, his lips quirked up, noting Beauregard’s slip - he never told her his last name.

Jester gave him a hard look. “You’re not considering it?”

Caleb shrugged. “Depends on the prize.” 

Beauregard walked ahead of them and Jester pulled Caleb along without thinking, weaving between the crowd. As they walked, Caleb watched one of the fighters on the stage collapse after a nasty hit across the jaw. Caleb physically winced watching as the figure spit out what was most likely blood and tooth before picking themself back up. 

_ Scheisse _ . He wouldn’t last long in the ring by himself. 

He looked to Jester, Beauregard. Knew that it was likely they would never have his back as they usually did in a fight.

He tried not to let the idea consume him. 

“Beau knows the lady who wins like, every week,” Jester said, close enough to be heard over the music. “She’s insane to watch!”

“Is that so?” Caleb was half-paying attention, watching the fight unfold on stage. The two figures were circling each other now, blocking each other’s attacks and the crowd jeered for someone to land a hit. 

“Yeah, she’s--” Jester paused, face screwing together. She cupped a hand around her mouth and shouted, “Beau! Who’s that drow-lady you know?!” 

Beauregard, who had made a bit of distance between them, turned around. “What?”

Caleb huffed a laugh that was inaudible as Jester repeated her question. Beauregard waited for them to catch up before she answered. 

“Her name is Traci and she’s a badass,” Beauregard said, admiration in her tone. “Like, she even taught me some moves I’ve never seen before, and I’ve been working here for  _ years _ .”

Something about that stuck out to Caleb, but he was still watching the fight on stage. The more he watched, the more the desire to throw himself into the ring lessened. The figure who went down earlier went down again with a sickening smack below the chin and they didn’t get back up. 

Jester gasped suddenly, wrenching Caleb’s attention away from the fight. She was still grasping his hand, but her eyes were drawn to a glass case at the very back of the room. The case was closed off by a padlock and guarded by an Elvish man who tipped back in his chair and watched the crowd unenthusiastically. 

Behind the glass were half-hazardly tossed rolls of dollar bills, a few pieces of gem-encrusted jewelry, those rectangle things Caleb was pretty sure were called ‘telephones’, but most importantly, there was a bright pink haversack smudged with dirt and blood and ash leaning against the glass. 

“It’s sooo cute!” Jester said, in awe. “It could use a cleaning-up, though…” 

Caleb let go of Jester’s hand in favor of gripping Beauregard’s shoulder, who had also been looking over the prize case. He was sure his eyes were almost wild as Beauregard turned to him, confused and concerned. 

In a single, forceful breath, he asked, “How do I win?”

-

Beauregard initially laughed at him, but once she found he was serious, he was lead to the back rooms. This was when Beauregard laid the rules out for him. 

“Fists only,” Beauregard said, pounding her hands together to demonstrate. “If they catch ya cheating, you’re banned for life. Understood?”

Caleb nodded, with full intentions to throw this advice out the window. He can’t be caught cheating if no one believes in magic, after all. 

“Second,” Beauregard said, eyeing him. “You can’t wear all those layers.” 

She tugged on his coat until he let it slide off his shoulders, leaving him exposed in just his tunic. It made him realize he had not changed his clothes since the Mighty Nein’s last showdown - evident by the singed sleeves of his shirt and the blood splattered across his front, hidden by his coat until now. 

“Shit,” Beauregard winced, taking a step back. Caleb realized belatedly that it wasn’t the old blood, or his smell that his old team liked the make fun of, but the faded scars that littered his arms. 

Caleb crossed his arms as if to hide them, suddenly feeling vulnerable in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Told you. I’ve been in fights before.” 

Beauregard nodded. She still seemed fixated on his scars, something that would be considered rude normally, but Caleb hoped that maybe, maybe she could remember. Then she blinked and looked down at the coat in her hands. 

“Where’d you get this thing?” She asked, running a hand across the fur. “Looks expensive.” 

_ It was _ , Caleb’s mind supplied him, remembering that the amount of gold he spent just on that coat would’ve made his parents faint. Instead, he said, “It was a gift.” 

Beauregard raised an eyebrow at him like she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t pry. Instead, she approached one of the metal lockers that lined the walls and began turning a combination on the lock. 

“I’ll keep it in here ‘till you’re done out there,” Beauregard said, hanging the coat up inside. She rummaged around the locker, which Caleb could see was mess inside; half-used rolls of gauze, empty bottles, and some old clothes were only some things that he could see. Beauregard left the locker open and approached with one of the rolls of bandages. 

“You wanna take those books off and stow ‘em away, too?” She asked, nodding to his harness. 

After a moment of hesitation, he did. Watching Beauregard hide his books away made him feel even more stripped of his power. The only form of comfort he took was from his component pouch, still tied to his waist under his tunic. He had no intention of giving that up. 

Beauregard took control then, using one of her hair ties to keep his hair out of his face, then rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. Using the gauze, she wrapped up his fists, and almost automatically, used it to cover up his scars, too. He didn’t stop her. 

She leaned back to look at her handiwork and smiled. “There. Now you look like a proper monk.” 

Awkwardly, Caleb put his hands up in fists, in what he assumed was proper fighting position. He frowned at Beauregard’s smirk. 

“Wow, okay,” Beauregard said, stepping back into his space. “You gotta…. Like this.” She moved his fists until he was in an actual fighting position. She straightened his shoulders and kicked his feet together. “There. That’s defensive. If you wanna take a swing--” She mimicked his position and punched out with the arm tucked close to her chest. She smacked her own forearm that was held like a shield in front of her body. “Use this one to keep your face from getting smacked.” 

Caleb nodded and repeated her motions, swinging out with one arm and keeping the other held in front of him. Beauregard smiled. He was lucky he was always a quick learner. 

“Good,” She said, sounding genuinely impressed. “You’re lucky that they don’t really care about form, though.” 

“As long as I can pass.” 

Beauregard glanced out of the back room. There was still the muffled sounds of fighting, almost overwhelmed by cheering and the thumping music. Even in the back rooms, it seemed to shake the benches and the lockers. 

“You better get out there soon,” Beauregard said. “We only have ‘till 5 when they close the place down.” 

It’s currently 2, according to Caleb’s internal clock. “I will. Can I have a moment alone?”

Beauregard raised an eyebrow, and he expected a short interrogation before he was free to be alone with the other fighters’ private belongings. Instead, she nodded. 

“You got two minutes,” Beauregard said, and she left. 

Caleb let out a slow breath. This plan could very well not work - he wasn’t exactly the best fighter on their team - but he was out of options. He had no team, no magic, and no rogue to steal for him. It was this or let the bag go to someone else. 

He still had the leather thong on his thigh, and he gripped it to cast his armor, thankful that it wouldn’t be seen. Going for his component pouch next, he cast  _ haste _ , feeling the build of adrenaline course through him that nearly made him shake. He went to reach for the ring of protection he took from Yasha but remembered belatedly that it was in the haversack. Just another reason to get it back before the bag falls into the wrong hands.

Well. Time to give this a shot.

He stood and tried to stretch in a way that he’d seen Beauregard do hundreds of times but he knew he was only procrastinating the inevitable. Beauregard stuck her head back into the room and smirked. 

“Just do what I told ya and maybe you’ll survive a round or two,” She said, which was not at all reassuring. 

“ _ Ja _ , sure.” 

Caleb followed her out of the back rooms and everything moved fast after that. He was lead onto the stage with an encouraging smack on the back from Beauregard before he was all by himself, surrounded by bright lights and a jeering crowd. 

His opponent stepped on the opposite side of the ring. Thankfully, it was another human, even around the same frame as Caleb, but she bounced on her heels with her fists at the ready and a colorful mouth guard in her teeth. She clearly had more experience. 

Caleb readied his fists and straightened his stance. He was thankful he had the one advantage nobody else here had: magic. 

As his opponent swung out her first attack, he slid out of the way with speed he never would be capable of outside of this. Even she was surprised, nearly stumbling as her fist met air. He took advantage of that moment and swept his heel under her feet, sending her sprawling across the hard cement floor. 

The crowd cheered, and over the top of it all, he heard Jester’s shrill shout, “ _ Woo, Caleb! _ ”. He laughed, a breathless, unbelievable sound only he could hear. 

Then his opponent stood up, nursing a hand on her side, a snarl on her lips, and he couldn’t dodge the next fist coming at him. He put his arm up at the last second but the attack still impacted, sending him stumbling back a step or two as he knew a bruise would form on that arm. 

He had no time to recover as she swung her leg out next, kicking his stomach and knocking the breath out of him. Caleb couldn’t help hunching over with a gasp, which allowed her to take another swing. She swung upward with her fist, her knuckle dragging below his eye and something sharp scraping against his cheekbone. As Caleb stumbled farther back, a hand going to the cut and growing bruise under his eye, he realized she was wearing rings. 

He mentally promised himself to chew Beauregard out for listing the rules that clearly no one here cared to follow. Straightening with new resolve, and very aware that getting kicked out was the least of his concerns, he attacked. 

They fought back and forth like that for a while. Caleb would have a winning streak of landing hits before suddenly his opponent got the upper hand. He was sporting a black eye and a bleeding fist that caught one of her rings (and the countless bruises that he was sure littered his body) as the tide started turning in his direction. She wasn’t all that better off, either: blood smeared the corner of her mouth where he landed a wet fist against her jaw, and there was a red mark on her forehead where he kneed her. Even with magic to aid him, his opponent had stubborn determination. 

He almost forgot his magical armor until one of her fists made a  _ clang  _ as it hit against the invisible breastplate. Her expression twisted to confusion, and he was only lucky that the sound was mostly drowned out by the music and the crowd. 

He took advantage of her confusion swung for her ear. She held up an arm to block it at the last second, and instead, Caleb reeled an elbow back that collided with the bridge of her nose. He flinched as he heard a sickening  _ crack _ , and his opponent fell to the ground, her hands cupping her face. She smacked an open palm on the concrete, and a whistle sounded to announce that the fight was over. 

He was ushered off stage then, the sounds of the crowd cheering nearly drowning out his own thoughts. Beauregard with him in an instant, an arm around his shoulders as he was lead back to the locker room. 

“Gods, I can’t believe you won that,” Beauregard was saying as she pushed him into a tiled room with stalls on one side and mirrors and sinks on the other. She pushed him on one of the benches and ripped paper towels from a nearby dispenser before soaking them in water. “I think you broke her nose.” 

She knelt before him and began wiping at the blood beneath his swelling eye. The cool water was a relief to the sting and Caleb leaned against the touch, fatigue sinking in as the  _ haste  _ wore off. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” Beauregard warned, pushing him back against the cold wall. She pressed the damp paper against his eye. “Hold this here for me.” 

Sluggishly, Caleb did as he was told. She unwrapped his fist with blood soaking the bandages and cleaned the cuts with cold water and gentle scrubbing. Wiping a hand on her pants, she fished her ‘telephone’ from her pocket and held it against her ear. 

“Jess, come to the bathrooms,” She said into it, and Caleb watched her with half-closed eyes. She glanced at him, then back to the sink. “Bring something with caffeine. And also your first aid kit. You carry that around still? Good. Yeah, he needs it. See ya in a bit.” She pocketed the device and continued washing the blood from his face and fists. 

It was moments later that Jester burst into the bathroom, holding a bottle in one hand and a little white box in the other. She gasped and knelt next to Caleb on the bench. “Oh my gosh Caleb! That fight was amazing! I can’t believe you broke her nose like that - are you okay?”

Beauregard answered for him. “Yeah, he’s fine. Can you just like, do something with whatever’s bleeding? And his eye might need an ice pack.” 

“I’m on it!” Jester unlatched her first aid kit and first took out a small bag. She cracked it, wrapped it with a loose piece of cloth kept folded inside the kid, and guided Caleb’s hand to hold it over his swelling eye. Then she went to work on his bleeding knuckles and numerous scrapes. 

“She had rings,” Caleb said, almost slurred, eyeing Beauregard. She huffed. 

“Well, sorry, some rules are loosely followed.” She shrugged. Guilt flashed briefly across her face, and as Jester began re-wrapping his arms with rolled bandages, Beauregard hurried out of the room. 

“Here, drink this,” Jester said, giving him the bottle once his arms were covered again. She screwed the cap off and handed it to him. 

Caleb drank the contents without thinking about it and almost choked it back up. Jester, alarmed, rubbed his back. 

“ _ Was?  _ The fuck is this?” Caleb asked, squinting his one good eye to read the yellow and green label. He thought it was water, but now as he examined the liquid, there were little bubbles that wasn’t normally in water. 

“It’s just Sprite, Caleb,” Jester said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, I know Beau said caffeine but the vending machine didn’t have anything good--” 

“Why does it... taste like that?” There was still a tingling feeling on his tongue even after he spit it out, along with the taste of citrus, and even that wasn’t quite what he remembered. 

“Like what?” Jester asked, taking the bottle. She sniffed the contents and then took a sip. “Tastes fine to me.” 

“Ah. Nothing, then. I was just expecting water,” Caleb said, the lie easy on his lips. Even if that was supposed to be normal, he didn’t think he was a fan of the way ‘Sprite’ tasted. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Caleb, I can get you water, too,” Jester offered, standing up. “Unless you like, plan on going back out there, in which case you probably don’t want to drink a lot.” 

_ Scheisse,  _ that’s right. If he wanted to win this thing, he’d have to go back out there. He readjusted the pack against his eye and leaned his head against the tile wall, wondering how he let himself get in this position. 

Beauregard reappeared with a pair of bracers in her hands. With Caleb switching out which hand was holding the ice pack to his face, she tied them to his forearms. 

“This should help block some punches,” Beauregard said as she tightened the straps. “It’s not  _ technically  _ against the rules unless someone complains about it.” She let Caleb clench his fist to make sure the bracers weren’t too tight before stepping back, satisfied. “Think of Eve’s rings from earlier. Everyone has something like that. No one really complains since it makes for a better show.” 

“Would’ve been nice to know before,” Caleb mumbled, and Beauregard pretended not to hear him. 

“Anyway,” She said, loud enough that it echoed in the tiled room. “Those’ll help. That is, if you plan on going back out there.” 

Caleb opened his mouth to reply, but it was at that moment that the door swung open and Caleb’s previous opponent walked in. ‘Eve’, as Beauregard mentioned. She was in worse shape than Caleb; her nose was bruised and dried blood caked her top lip. There was a single strip of white tape across the bridge of her nose. Her knuckles, while bruised and bloodied like his own, had white spots on her fingers where her rings resided. She must have taken them off after the fight. 

Eve, holding a different ice pack to her jaw, paused to look at Caleb. She cracked a bloody grin. Slightly slurred, she said, “Nice fight out there, Widogast.” Then she went into one of the stalls with what Caleb would call a complicated chamber pot and locked the door behind her. 

“I might have totally told everyone your name just ‘cause, that was like, a super cool fight,” Jester stage-whispered to him. “And  _ Widogast _ is a super cool name.” 

_ That’s why I chose it _ , Caleb thought. “Thank you, Jester. I, um. I will give it another go.” 

Beauregard’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? You want to get kicked to shit again?” At Caleb’s nod, she knelt in front of him as if she was talking to a child. “As the night goes on, the pros start taking the stage. It will only get harder from here on out. Are you sure?” 

“I am willing to try.” In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.  _ Trying _ was all he was able to do. 

There was a sudden sound of something, like harsh suction - later he would compare it to a waterfall, too - and Eve exited the stall and approached the sinks. She had a smirk - as much as a smirk as she could have with her jaw swollen. “You may have been able to beat me, but you can’t beat Traci. Beau can vouch for that.” 

Beauregard nodded as if in agreement. “Traci’s kind of a badass. She goes home with the prize every time she shows up.” 

“I suppose the only way you could win tonight is if she calls in sick,” Eve added, wiping her hands dry on her leggings. “Good luck, Widogast.” Then she was out the door, letting it swing shut behind her. On the front of the door, Caleb caught a label stating ‘Restroom’. 

“So, like,” Beauregard said, crossing her arms. “Don’t let it discourage you, I guess, but yeah. You still planning on trying to win?”

Caleb set the ice pack aside. He clenched his hands, cracking his sore knuckles and testing the bracers a second time. He was sure this feeling of fatigue would fade once he recast  _ haste  _ on himself. 

Standing up, he said, “Let’s do it.” 

-

Beauregard was right. As the early morning came around, his opponents were tougher, stronger. Caleb was never knocked out, but he only kept himself up by dodging with the extra speed  _ haste  _ offered. He could slide out of range until he could land a couple hits on them, and mostly that was enough to get him by. The twenty minute wait in between his fights was enough to recover and replenish his spells. Although, a few times, Caleb was tempted to reach for his component pouch and search for more effective spells to end the fight. Knowing that no one else had that advantage is what stopped him. 

It was the last hour of the night where the fabled Traci showed up. She was a drow woman with a scarf around her head and long, pierced ears. She wore what the more modern monks of this day wore, tight clothes made of stretchy cloth, but she also had a blue sash tied around her waist. 

Caleb watched her fight for the first time at the back of the crowd, sipping from a bottle of water that Jester got for him. The swelling in the first eye had gone down just in time for his other eye to take a direct hit. As of the moment, the one eye was swollen shut. His lip was split from two fights ago, where his opponent liked to sharpen his nails. He had three long scratches down his shoulder from that fight, too. Jester stitched him up and he was sent back out without a single complaint. 

Traci faced that same guy from earlier, too. He had a wide open grin, and he waved his sharpened claws in a beckoning, teasing way. Two seconds later, he was escorted off the stage with his own nails pierced through his thigh. Traci dusted off her hands and walked off without a single scratch. 

“She doesn’t even have a secret weapon,” Jester said in awe. 

“‘Course she doesn’t,” Beauregard said, casting a concerned glance to Caleb. “She doesn’t need one.” 

Caleb sipped his water with more anxiety than before. 

Traci had remained undefeated since her arrival all the way up until Caleb was finally facing against her. Up close, Caleb began to wonder if he even had a chance. 

At the moment of stepping up to the ring, something in Traci bristled. Like he had stepped on her tail, she narrowed her eyes at him and her lips pinched together. 

Caleb held up his fists in the usual defensive stance. Her lip turned up in one corner. Then she rushing forward. 

Caleb was able to lift an arm up in time to deflect the first punch, shocking his already bruised arm behind the bracers. The next strike was a quick jab just below his armpit, making him keel over. A third strike was planted behind his knee, causing him to drop. 

Strangely, the strikes did not hurt, as if there wasn't any effort put behind them. Then he felt his tongue numb, a strange tingle at the back of his throat, like he had swallowed more of that Sprite drink Jester offered him. Even weirder, Traci backed off, fists raised. 

Caleb stood up and mirrored her, but it became clear that Traci was waiting for him to make the first move. Even though he knew that this must be a trap of some sort, he swung. 

Traci ducked and gripped his wrist, pressing her mouth close to his ear as she asked, “Why are you here?” 

Caleb broke free from her grip with the nauseating thought that she let him go, his mind comparing it to a cat playing with its food. When he opened his mouth to speak, he found the truth spilling out of him, “To win.” 

He blinked. Normally, he would not have answered at all. But there was a certain look in Traci’s eyes, and the tingle in his throat suddenly made sense. She was extorting information from him. The Cobalt Soul monks still lived. 

Caleb threw another strike, expecting her to slide and dodge. She did, quick on her feet, and Caleb caught the motion with his foot. She stumbled, but didn’t fall, and Caleb kicked her squarely in the chest to create some distance. She bumped against the ropes around the ring, using it to regain her stance. 

“Cobalt Soul,” Caleb said, loud enough so she could hear. “I didn’t know there were any left.” He was still fuzzy on the details, unsure if the entire monk organization fell or if others rebuilt the library in their memory. He was fairly certain this ‘fight club’ wasn’t originally part of Ioun’s teachings. 

Traci didn’t respond. Instead, she used the heel of her hand to crack her neck, giving Caleb a stare that he felt he must have seen before. She took lumbering steps forward, fists held up in front of her. 

“Who are you?” Traci asked, circling him, threatening. 

“I am Caleb Widogast,” Caleb said, and was only partially surprised that it was his full honest answer. He felt more like  _ Caleb _ in the past couple years with the Nein than he’s ever felt as  _ Bren _ . 

By Traci’s grunt, she wasn’t fully satisfied with his answer. Her jaw ground together. With purpose in her steps, she laid a fierce strike at the base of his throat, followed by quick, sharp jabs across his chest and under his arms. Caleb felt his muscles lock up and for a few terrifying seconds, he couldn’t move. 

Traci gripped the front of his tunic and the back of his head. She hissed out, “How did the Cerberus Assembly fuck up  _ this  _ badly?”

Caleb’s eyes widened in realization. Fighting against the stunning strike, he ground out between his teeth, “Dairon?”

‘Traci’ groaned and threw him away. She had fierce anger in her eyes and he knew that the rest of this fight was going to hurt. 

His  _ haste _ was practically ineffective against such a powerful monk. She was quicker than he ever could be, landing shocking strikes at the weak points in his joints, his sides. His armor did barely anything, either. In a last ditch effort to turn the battle to his side, he reached for his component pouch. 

He barely was able to find the molasses before ‘Traci’ gripped the front of his tunic. With a snarl, she hissed, “Your people will pay.” 

Then she delivered a final uppercut, and the last thing Caleb registered was a  _ crack  _ that he both heard and felt shatter across his face. After that, everything went dark. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion, bruises, and tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did another.  
> i still like this AU even tho i kinda drifted away from critrole for a while lol. im coming back, just gotta get over my hyperfixations that jump every fuckin week.  
> anyway. have fun with more confused caleb. glad yall stuck around this long <3

He was dreaming. 

It wasn’t the first time he had been aware of it. His conscious mind liked to be a little too conscious, even in the deepest state of sleep. It was easy to tell right away; there was a fuzziness in the edges of his vision, as if when he turned his head, the world he had been looking at disappeared into dust. As if his surroundings didn’t exist beyond what was in front of him. 

And, really, was that not what dreams were? Imaginations of your deepest subconscious, and you are the epicenter. Manifestations of fears or desires or--

Or memories. 

And he was tossed into a seemingly random memory tonight. An old one; he was sitting alone at a fire keeping watch, Frumpkin purring contentedly in his lap. Beauregard, Nott, and Mollymauk (and oh, even in a dream, it was a relief to see his face sleeping so peacefully and _alive_ ) were wrapped up in their bedrolls and the others were nowhere to be seen. 

Of course, of course - the thick feeling of loss and betrayal and _failure_ was stagnant around the whole camp, but especially around him. _In_ him. Even knowing that this was a dream, and they’ll get the others back safe and sound (and he couldn’t help to chance a glance back at Mollymauk), he couldn’t help the emotions linked to his particular memory, the kind that urged him to making a pretty pointless speech to himself in the dead of night as he failed to leave like he said he would. 

The words echoed in his mind as if he just said it - could almost taste the criticisms he gave of Nott on the tip of his tongue, all of which were proven moot in the coming days - and a different kind of possibility opened up in his mind. 

If he had walked away that night - if he had taken Frumpkin and packed his bags and left like he promised himself, where would that have left the rest of them? 

Maybe they wouldn’t have ambushed the Iron Shepherds when lacking another member of their party. Maybe Mollymauk would still be alive. 

But would they have saved the others and been successful? Would there have been _more_ casualties? Would Nott miss him? Would she have tried to reverse the curse placed on her by herself, or seek some other kind of magical assistance? Would Beauregard tell the rest of them what he had confided in her and Nott? Would they have ever met Caduceus?

Most of all, would they have all died anyway?

Perhaps Ikithon would’ve caught up to him either way. Perhaps they would’ve killed Caleb instead, and maybe the Nein would find his body, and maybe they would mourn _him_ and not the other way around. 

(Would Fjord be upset? He thought of the man fondly back then but they were far from anything more than friends - just to the point to have a warm feeling spark in his chest when the man glanced in his direction, or being pulled towards the warlock by something he couldn’t explain, but neither of them were aware of what was happening until much later--)

If he had that chance to go back to this moment by the fire, after the Iron Shepherds, after trying and failing to convince himself to leave, if he knew where this life would get them, would he go through with it?

(Would he give up his family? Would he give up these friends? Would he give up the love of his life?)

Caleb stood up from the log propped up by the fire. Frumpkin, or this dream version of him at least, chirped and nuzzled against his throat. Caleb turned from the fire and walked off into the dark, burying his face in his cat’s soft fur, to keep from seeing the road ahead of him (or to wipe the wetness from his eyes). 

The dark was a solid blackness outside the light of the fire, a type of darkness thick enough that would render the others’ darkvision useless. Caleb trusted it and kept walking, and he never bumped into trees or stumps like he would if this wasn’t a dream. 

He wasn’t sure when he stopped walking - or, rather, when the darkness enveloped him completely until he didn’t have a body or even a destination anymore. At some point he stopped thinking, and he supposed that meant he stopped dreaming, and dreaming became sleep. 

-

Caleb woke up, and just the act of fluttering his eyes open caused the sullen ache in his face to flare up and a soft, pained moan to slip out of him. He relaxed against whatever surface he was propped upon and waited for the pain to subside, noticing then that there was a soft blanket draped across him and a pillow tucked under his head. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes again, only managing one as the other had been swollen shut. It was still an effort not to turn his head too fast or risk seeing spots in his one good eye, but he very carefully examined his surroundings. 

He had been placed in a small home. He had been placed on a couch in the center of a living area, complete with a kitchen on the far end of the room. In the kitchen was a stepping stool pressed against one corner cabinet, suggesting this might belong to a Halfling or a Gnome ...or maybe a goblin, Caleb thought, as he noticed the distant smell of brewing coffee.

There were yellow curtains on the windows above the living area and it might’ve been the rays of light that woke him up, but Caleb realized quickly - without the help of a digital clock below the _television_ \- that it was ticking close to noon. 

A coffee table was beside the couch with a glass of water (perspiration dripping down the sides - it used to be cold, but likely wasn’t now), a white bottle with two little red tablets beside it, and a hand-drawn note. 

Caleb picked up the note first. Written in painfully familiar chicken-scratch, he read: ‘Pain meds on the table. Ice packs in the freezer. Help yourself to sandwiches in the fridge. If you need anything, hollar down the stairs. - Nott Brenatto’. 

Curious, Caleb picked up the bottle. The label had a word he wasn’t familiar with, but ‘pain reliever’ and ‘swallow every 4-6 hours’ was clear enough for him. He took the two pills and swallowed them both dry, then realized it might have been easier with the water placed nearby. He took a long drink anyway, once he carefully raised himself into a sitting position on the old couch. It squealed beneath him, almost in tandem with the pain that wracked his body as he forced his sore muscles to move. His hands were bandaged, but in actual medical gauze this time instead of the bandages Beauregard gave him. His fingers were swollen and sore and shook as he took the glass in hand and swallowed a quarter of it down in one go. His throat was parched. 

As he set the glass back down, he noticed specks of blood begin to soak through the gauze. He might need it re-wrapped, but - as he struggled to bend his fingers - someone else should do it. 

His ribs were crying out and his legs were aching and he was sure someone wrapped his knees up as well - he felt the bandages under his trousers - and he was scared to look under his shirt. No doubt he was bruised to the Abyss and back. He was more frightened to look in a mirror. 

As he waited for the pain meds to work their magic (he chuckled bitterly), Caleb examined the rest of this little apartment. There was a small hallway beside the _television_ that lead to another set of doors, ones that most likely hold bedrooms or work rooms or what-not. He didn’t have the energy to explore just yet. 

He was still in his tunic and trousers from the fight, now speckled with blood and dirt and ripped at the seams (and that stung, when thinking back to how much he paid for these clothes), but his coat was draped over an armchair beside the couch, unscathed. His component pouch, the piece of beatle-shine armor, and his holsters with his books occupied the cushion - and he was reminded yet again that he had lost the rest, the haversack left behind. 

Which struck him again - was that really Dairon? That was his last thought before he was struck a final time (his definitely broken nose cried out at the memory) but surely it was impossible. He had only consecuted his friends and he was the only one to make that jump. 

Was he? Certainly, it was magic he had created by combining his knowledge at the Soltryce Academy with his recent skills in Dunamancy. He was the only one who had the ability to make that jump. Perhaps, in the time he had skipped, someone else had come upon the notes he left behind and re-created it - but that doesn’t explain _Dairon_ , who had no involvement in either faction (and positively despised the Cerberus Assembly). 

 _“How did the Cerberus Assembly fuck up_ this _badly?” Said with venom, said with betrayal, with such conviction beyond competition and something more personal._

(Not to mention that his research revealed the Assembly doesn’t exist anymore--)

Caleb leaned his head back into the couch as his thoughts began to hammer against his skull. He glanced at the bottle on the table, even though he memorized what it declared already. ‘Every 4-6 hours’. It has been ten minutes and fifteen seconds. 

There was a curling in his gut as he remembered he never had a chance to eat those snack foods that he stole from that corner store - which were now likely rotting in that alley or became food for some other lucky soul. The note had said something about sandwiches in the fridge. Caleb carefully stood, one knee almost giving out from under him, but he luckily caught himself on the coffee table. He took a moment as he stood up for the wave of nausea that nearly overtook him, and let it pass, before he carefully stepped towards the kitchen. 

He took a lucky guess at which one was the fridge - he’s seen ones like it before, at least, just a more rudimentary version - and opened it up. A cool breeze rushed past him and he examined the contents. Reading off labels, he noticed a jug of milk, creamer, some containers with cut vegetables or slices of meat, maybe leftovers from previous meals. But what caught his eye the most was a large plate with sandwiches of different varieties, and a transparent film that wrapped over the top. 

Caleb took the plate and laid it on one of the shiny stone counters. After wrestling with the plastic film on top - which had his fingers tangled in it multiple times before he managed to get it entirely off. He did manage to crumple the entire thing into a sticky ball and he wasn’t about to attempt to replace it on top of the plate. 

He took one of the carefully prepared sandwiches and peeled up the top bread slice. It was simple, with just a cut of cold meat and lettuce. He had certainly eaten less. He took two anyway.

He placed the plate (now film-less) back in the fridge. He took a bite of one of the sandwiches as he examined the rest of the kitchen. Toeing around the footstool, he began opening and closing the cupboards above the counter. There was one with plates and bowls, another with tall cups and mugs, but most of them were filled with boxes of what Caleb could assume was food. He took a few down to read the labels - at this point he accepted that most things had labels, which was especially convenient for him - and found boxes that contained things like cookies, crackers, a variety of cereals, and what looked like dried noodles. In the cabinets below the counters, he found pans and tins that he could assume was for baking. There were plenty - bundt shapes, cupcakes, oval, square, heart-shaped cake tins. At first, Caleb was confused - the Nott he remembered never had an affinity for food or cooking in general, that was always Caduceus - but then he remembered that alchemy was a lost art in this time period. Or, at least, it took new forms: baking, for one. Brewing coffee was another, as the scent of beans never left the apartment. 

Searching through the contents of the cabinets, Caleb came across a hidden bottle of booze pressed in a corner behind a stack of cake tins. He chuckled, replacing it back to its hiding spot. Some things never change, at least. 

He finished the first sandwich when he felt like he needed something to drink. Back to the fridge, he tried to search its contents for something other than milk - and luckily, in the bottom drawer, found a stack of cold water bottles like the one he had stolen the other day. He reached for one, then hesitated. He couldn’t assume that he had permission to everything in the house - but his dry thirst won out in the end. 

He snapped the cap off and swallowed a quarter of the bottle. It was blessedly cool against his throat, even as the motion of opening his mouth irritated his split lip. As he took another bite of the second sandwich, he glanced again down the hallway branching from the living area. Now that those pain meds began kicking in, and his body didn’t feel like he’d been trampled by horses, but rather that he fell down a rocky hill instead. Which was better. Marginally. 

4-6 hours. It has been 45 minutes. 

Exploring the hallway will distract him from the throbbing in his nose. He snacked on what remained of his sandwich as he walked down the hall, pausing just outside the first door on the right. 

He nudged the door open, which was already slightly ajar. Likely a room that Nott moved in and out of frequently. Inside was clearly her bedroom; while not very clean, it was lived in. A desk was littered with papers, some stapled together, others crumpled into balls and shoved aside. Empty water bottles were pushed into a corner, one or two having fallen off the edge. The bed was unmade and the bedside table had a half empty bottle of booze (and who knows how many other bottles were hidden around the apartment?). Piles of clothes littered the floor around a full basket, and there was an open closet that was nearly empty. There was a bookshelf on one wall, but even in the doorway, Caleb could see a thick layer of dust on their spines. 

He shut the door without stepping inside, not intending to pry into anyone’s privacy. 

The next door on the left leads into a smaller, one-person restroom, unlike the one he remembered from the fighting ring under Beauregard’s library. There was even a bath, although it wasn’t like the baths he was familiar with. Unlike bathhouses, this was meant to fit one person. There was a hole in the floor of the bath that he knew must be meant to drain out the water, but he noticed a spout on the wall. The future has water running directly through houses and into their own private baths. For some reason, that struck him as the most fascinating part of his stay so far. 

There was a handle that he turned, and nearly jumped in his skin as water erupted from the spout. He laughed at himself, then ran a hand under the stream as he turned the handle from blue to red, noticing the change in temperature. Fascinating, indeed. 

Then he saw a plug on the spout and his curiosity was piqued. Without a thought, he pulled it. The water from the spout stopped, momentarily confusing him, until he felt cold water suddenly hit his head from above. 

Letting out a startled yelp, Caleb backed out of the bath. There was a nozzle on the wall that he hadn’t noticed before, now spitting out water. He watched it go for a few, stunned seconds, before finally pressing the plug down again. Immediately, the water stopped from above and redirected back through the spout. 

Caleb hummed thoughtfully and shut off the water for good. 

Before he left, he spotted his own reflection in a mirror above the sink. For a moment, he didn’t recognize himself; one eye was still swollen shut and an ugly shade of blue-black. His nose had a piece of gauze taped over his bridge, but even with that, he could tell it was misshapen, and probably permanently. There was yellowing bruises on his jaw, and his hair was a mess. 

Well. He’s been in worse shape before. It was just unlucky that there was no clerical magic to fix his injuries. 

(Tried not to think about the scars under his sleeves--)

The next room was a spare bedroom, much neater than Nott kept her own. The blankets were folded and tucked, the bedside table empty except for a lamp. There was a desk that was barren except for a pencil cup and a few pens. Interestingly, there was a poster above the bed of some illustrated male figure, shirtless, and looking out at the viewer with a seductive gaze. The figure was a half-orc, with some text below about something with a private academy, but Caleb was too flustered at the sight to bear being in the room long enough to read it. 

Definitely not Nott’s. Or at least he hoped so. 

Thankfully, that was the last door. Caleb went back to the living area, only realizing when he got there that his sandwich was gone. 

He stood, momentarily lost, in the middle of the room, not quite ready to sit down but not sure where to satisfy his curiosity next. Absently, he scratched at his cheek; hissed when the contact disrupted the tape across his nose. 

He glanced at the bottle on the coffee table again. 1 hour and 3 minutes. He was tempted to call it ‘close enough’. 

Then his eye caught the yellow curtains, and his attention was diverted. 

Brushing aside the curtains, Caleb looked down. By Nott’s note, he could guess that he was up a story, and he was right. People milled down below, those vehicles lined up again on the road to the point that passersby tried to squeeze between cars in order to cross. Occasionally, someone passing by would enter the building downstairs. 

He must be above Nott’s brewery. Downstairs, she might be working, possibly with Jester. Definitely explained the constant aroma of freshly brewed coffee that permeated the apartment. 

It would be nice to go down and thank her for her hospitality. Nott was always naturally protective of him, but that was because she believed he could help her (or, a deeper part of his brain thought, was that she had taken him as her own son after she believed she lost hers. Knowing what she missed out on, what he took her away from, will never be a thought that will settle well with him). Now, he owed Nott nothing, at least as far as she knew, and she was still taking care of him. The least he could do was thank her. 

The front door was in the kitchen, and outside it was a set of stairs. The aroma of coffee was stronger the further he made his way downstairs, until he could pick up on scents like caramel, chocolate, cream, and others he couldn’t identify. 

The stairs lead to a backroom of the brewery. Across from him, there was a windowed back door. To the side, there was an open archway that lead further into the shop. Caleb took the archway. 

Beyond that, there was a kitchen. Larger than the one upstairs, and much more clean. There was the distinct smell of something cinnamon cooking in the oven, and the entire downstairs had a warmth that nothing but a kitchen could obtain. At the two large basins with a pile of dirty bowls and tins, caked with leftover dough and frosting, was a familiar, bright-haired firbolg, studiously washing dishes. 

He looked up when Caleb entered and smiled a half-cocked, sleepy grin. “Oh, you must be Mr. Caleb. Miss Nott told me you might come down.” He dried his hands on a towel hanging from a pocket on his apron before approaching and holding a hand out. “Mr. Clay. Let me fix you up some tea before you get some more rest.” 

Caleb took his hand almost robotically. Caduceus eyed him closely for a second, leaning further down as if to examine him. Caleb, stunned - and he had done this three times already, but it was still a shocker - didn’t pull away. 

Caduceus might have recognized him, or found whatever he was looking for, when he finally walked away with a pleased hum. As Caleb lingered, watching the all-too-familiar motions in a not-at-all-familiar setting, Caduceus filled a kettle with fresh water and put it on the stove to heat. He went to a cupboard and retrieved two teacups and two saucers, setting them on the counter beside the stove. He took a mason jar of tea leaves from the same cupboard and two brightly colored filters. 

“I have a garden where I make my own tea leaves,” Caduceus said, and Caleb was half-expecting him to tack on that they’re grown on top of graves. “I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Of--Of course not.” Caleb carefully took a seat at the metal table in the middle of the kitchen, most likely serving as a place to mix ingredients or just to be a spot to take a break. There were barstools surrounding it and Caleb claimed one. 

“Now, Miss Nott didn’t tell me why you were staying in her apartment,” Caduceus said, more of a question, as he leaned against the counter and observed. “I don’t believe she’s mentioned you before.”

“Oh.” Caleb cleared his throat, squashing down his rising nerves. “We have, ah. Only just met the other day. I have to thank her for her hospitality.” 

Caduceus hummed. “I apologize. The way she spoke of you, it sounded as if you two were close.” 

Privately, Caleb called that a victory. “Did she?” 

Caduceus examined him again, and Caleb was reminded why the firbolg’s stare always unsettled him. He felt like his soul was being searched through. Could he tell exactly what Caleb was hiding? That thought always scared him. 

Luckily, the kettle squealed at that moment. Caduceus’ stare lingered for a second longer before he finally turned away. Carefully, he poured hot water into the teacups and sunk the filters.

“Do you take milk, sugar, or honey?” Caduceus asked, gingerly carrying the teacups over to the metal table. There was already a heavy jar of sugar on the surface, and Caduceus dragged it towards him and dropped a spoonful into his cup. 

“ _Nein_ , none please.” Caleb drew his cup up towards his mouth and blew across the surface. It was a nice aroma that he didn’t recognize, so it must not be related to the tea Caduceus used to serve them. Part of him was disappointed. The other part was relieved, since he never enjoyed the thought of drinking the so-eloquently-named ‘dead people tea’. 

He took a sip, humming at the warmth. His eyes briefly fluttered closed. Tea wasn’t exactly uncommon where he grew up, but before Caduceus, it was something he’d only have when at home. Visits in between semesters, his _oma_ would prepare tea in the evenings, and it would be those nights he’d recount his adventures at the Academy, and his relatives would pat him on the back for all his achievements. The memory was a warm one, as long as he didn’t think too far ahead. 

When he opened his eyes, he found Caduceus watching him again. This time with a puzzled expression, almost sad. His eyes searching, searching, and his posture deflating as he couldn’t find what he was looking for. 

When he realized Caleb was looking back at him, Caduceus looked back down at his tea. “Sorry.” He glanced back up, an odd gleam in his eye. “Have we met before?”

Caleb smiled, his best I-can’t-hide-anything grin. “I think I’d remember a figure like yourself.” 

Caduceus paused, as if he didn’t understand, and Caleb was worried he overstepped - then he cracked a slow grin and chuckled. “I suppose I do stand out.” 

Caleb watched Caduceus sip his tea and hum contentedly. Pink eyes glanced up at the clock above the sink and squinted. To Caleb’s surprise, he then reached into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a folded pair of spectacles and propped them on his nose. _Those are new_. 

Once he read the clock, Caduceus let out a soft, “Ah,” and stood up, delicately placing his teacup back down on the saucer. He put on some colorful oven mitts - decorated with intricate roses - and opened the oven with the heavenly smell of cinnamon. Caduceus reached for the pan and rested it on the stove top. 

“Would you like a cinnamon bun?” Caduceus asked, placing his oven mitts aside. He wandered towards the large fridge that dwarfed the one in Nott’s apartment. 

“I do not have a way to pay for it,” Caleb asked, then glanced down at the cup of tea with an added bit of guilt. 

“I never asked if you did,” Caduceus said slyly. He opened the fridge and rummaged through its contents, reappearing a second later with a jar of a sweet glaze for the buns. 

“I still feel like I’d owe you,” Caleb insisted, though he eyed the buns that filled the room in a warm cinnamon aroma. Despite what he said, his mouth began to water. 

“You wouldn’t owe me,” Caduceus pointed out. He carefully used a spatula to slice two buns from the pan, each placed on their own plate. He poured a generous amount of the glaze over the individual buns. “And besides, Miss Nott told me to allow you free range of our goods if you happened to come down. On the house, I’d assume.” 

“Oh.” And he didn’t argue further when a plate of a sweet sticky bun was placed in front of him. “That’s very kind of her.” Then he was reminded what made him come down in the first place. “Do you know where she is? I’d like to thank her for her hospitality.” 

Caduceus hummed around a mouthful of cinnamon bun, chasing the sweetness down with a sip of tea. “She must be out front. We’ve been slow today, so she might be cleaning up.” 

Caleb nodded, preoccupied by picking up the bun with the least amount of sticky glaze on his fingers. He took a bite. It was still warm, almost hot, and the glaze ran sweet on his tongue, balancing out the sharp cinnamon. It was a baked delicacy that well deserved a platinum coin. Maybe ten. 

“You know,” Caduceus said as Caleb devoured the rest of the sticky bun. “Miss Nott seems to like you. I do too.” He cocked his head then, as if Caleb was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. “I’m not sure why.” There was melancholy, curiosity... longing, maybe. Caleb could be getting his hopes up. “If you asked nicely, I’m sure Miss Nott could offer you a spot here. Maybe even a room upstairs.” He paused again, and Caleb opened his mouth to speak, but Caduceus seemed able to tell what he was about to say and cut him off. “You look like you could use it, Mr. Caleb. I don’t know where you would be if you walked away from us now. And besides - you don’t really want to leave, do you?”

The odd parallel of Caduceus’ words and Caleb’s dream earlier had goosebumps prickling the back of his neck. _Gods_. Was he that easy to read?

He luckily never had a chance to respond. The door to the front of the shop swung open, and low to the ground, a sharp contrast to Caduceus' height, was Nott the goblin, an apron tied around her waist and a hairnet around her hair, which pulled back into a bun. She was tugging off rubber gloves as she walked into the kitchen, pausing only as she saw Caleb and Caduceus enjoying tea and cinnamon buns. 

“Oh!” She hurriedly rid herself of the gloves, half-haphazardly tossing them into the bin as she scrambled up onto a barstool. “Hi, Caleb. How are you feeling?” 

“Oh, better, thank you.” Really, his nose was throbbing and the achiness still remained in his limbs, but he could move without crying out in pain, so he supposed he was better. 

“Good!” Nott looked particularly proud of herself about that. “Jester and Beau dropped you off last night - you’re lucky that I was still awake, by the way, I was catching up on _Master Chef_ \- and I thought for a second that they just dragged a homeless corpse into my shop, but then I saw it was you, and well, I did my best.” She gestured vaguely to his face, which explained the tape over his nose. “Jester helped. They told me what happened, by the way, and I didn’t peg you as a fighter. Seems like I was right.” She cocked a grin, only realizing a second too late that it might be rude. Her mouth opened to apologize, but Caleb only chuckled. 

“You are right,” He said, and took a sip of tea. 

“Would you like a cup, Miss Nott?” Caduceus asked, preparing to stand from the table. 

“I’m alright Duecy.” Nott brushed him off, preoccupied with Caleb. “You can stay as long as you need, by the way, at least until you recover. I have a spare bedroom that Jester used when she first moved to Zadash.” 

That would explain the sultry poster. Caleb hid his face into his teacup. “That would be too kind of you, Nott.”

“Nonsense.” Her expression was a familiar one, motherly yet firm. “Don’t get all humble, either. You’ll stay here, and I’ll put you to work for it.” Her tone suggested a threat, but Caleb saw it for the veiled offer that it was. 

“... _Danke_ ,” He said quietly into his cup. 

Nott seemed satisfied with that answer. She hopped off the barstool and headed to the counter, her toes gripping onto the drawer handles as she propelled herself up, as if on a stepstool. Caleb realized right then that she had similar disposable gloves on her feet that she had on her hands. She knelt on the counter and kneeled over the steaming buns, humming under the aroma. 

“These are absolutely perfect, Deucy.” Nott used a spatula to scrape a bun from the confines of the pan and bit deeply into it, making Caleb resist the urge to ask for another. Behind her, Caduceus preened under the compliment. “You know, I think we’re gonna need another batch this weekend, for the rush.”

At this, Caduceus frowned. “What rush?”

Without answering, Nott hopped off the counter and scrambled back up the barstool. With a mouthful of sticky bun, she dug into the pocket of her apron and tossed out a flyer. “Some guy was here earlier setting up stacks of these at every table. Shooed him out, but not before he handed me like twenty of these.” 

Caleb read the flyer and later he swore his heart stopped in his chest. 

The purple flyer was showcasing a special event this weekend: a travelling circus to be set up in Zadash Park. _The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities_. Complete with a figure in cartoonish makeup, a pair of twins in leotards, a woman with a flaming sword held on the tip of her tongue, and a horrifically familiar purple tiefling in the center of it all, holding his arms out as if he was the host of the show. 

 _Maybe it was someone else_. After all, Caleb had only met one purple tiefling with bright red eyes. Who’s to say there isn’t others who look marginally similar?

The thought was dashed when he read the subtext: _Hosted by the one and only Mollymauk Tealeaf!_

Oh, _scheisse_.

If there was Molly, then there no doubt was Yasha with him. While Molly was alive, those two were a pair. Even as Yasha came and went as she pleased, there wasn’t just Yasha without Molly alongside her. It was only natural, he reasoned, that they would be together again. 

But - _how?_ He didn’t bring Molly back. Molly didn’t die alongside the others - he died alone and far away from the library. 

Did--Did Caleb do this? 

Flashbacks of his dream that morning hit him again, and he couldn’t help seeing it: the sword, the blood, the grave. The stick with Mollymauk’s coat. It ran through his mind as if it had been waiting for the right moment to strike. 

And with that, the floodgates burst open: blood, blood, _blood_. His ears rang with Ikithon’s laughter and Lorenzo’s taunts. The dreaded sense of loss that he had been pushing back since he realized he was alone. Since he resolved to do something about it. 

His mind’s eye saw the corpses littering a fallen archive, saw the grave alongside a dirt road. He saw the limp (pink-purple-blue-green) hand among the soot and ashe. Saw a sword, an arrow, a spear, a bolt of magic pierce through armor and deliver a final blow. These memories and thoughts had been carefully walled off, trying to prevent such a mental break. But there was only so much the battered mind of an old wizard can handle. 

There might have been people talking to him, but Caleb couldn’t hear them. He only knew that Ikithon was whispering orders in his ear and that the cinnamon bun was coming up his throat. 

He had enough time to dart off the barstool and lean over the large basin before vomiting half-digested sticky bun and cold sandwiches. The roaring in his ears died down as he spit whatever remained in his mouth. The memories snuck away back into their cages, giving him reprieve for now. Caleb slid from the edge of the basin to the floor and put his head between his knees. There was a comforting hand on his back and he dimly registered Caduceus’ deep voice beside him. 

“Mister Caleb, are back with us? Can you drink some water?”

Caleb wiped at his chin with the sleeve of his tunic - it’s not the worst thing this shirt has seen - before straightening enough to take the offered cup of water. It soothed his sore throat. He managed half the cup before setting it aside. 

“Thank you,” He rasped. 

Nott startled him by jumping from the counter above to right beside him. In her hand was another bottle of something bubbly, but with a different label. She twisted the cap and handed it to him with no room to argue. 

“This’ll help settle your stomach,” She said. 

Caleb took a tentative sip, remembering the Sprite he tried and prepared not to spit it on the kitchen floor. This bubbly drink was less citrusy, but still had the strange feeling on his tongue. It was a bit more bearable once he got past the feeling. And just as Nott said, the discomfort in his stomach soon passed as he continued to take cautious sips. 

He read the label and cocked his head. Lemons, limes, and now ginger have been used in these oddly bubbly drinks. He wondered what else has been turned into these drinks. 

“Maybe we should take him to a hospital,” Caduceus suggested. “He may have a head injury.”

“He did get knocked off his rocks last night,” Nott said, then added, slowly as if Caleb wouldn’t understand, “Ca-leb, can you tell me what day it is?”

Caleb had memorized the days of the week when he was four years old, but unfortunately he never learned which day he arrived in this time period. The other two noticed his long pause.

“Oh no,” Nott said in a mournful tone. “He’s concussed.” 

“He probably should’ve gone to the hospital sooner,” Caduceus noted.

Nott yanked off her hairnet and tucked it in the pocket of her apron. Hastily, she tugged off the apron and hung it up on a hook in the corner of the kitchen. She scampered up four steps, paused, then hurried back down. 

“I’ll be back,” She said around the doorframe. She pointed a clawed finger at him. “Don’t move.” 

Then she was climbing the stairs again, followed by a slam of the upstairs door. Caduceus chuckled beside him. 

“She can be a bit harrowing,” Caduceus said. He stood, briefly wiping off his knees with the leftover flour and dirt that stained the linoleum floor. He held a hand out. “Can you stand?”

Caleb took his hand and stood on wobbly knees. Caduceus lead him to one of the barstools, keeping a steady hand on his back the entire time. 

A part of Caleb was still reeling from the brief panic attack. A part of it remained at the edges of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him again. Some distant memory, of Jester telling him tips on how to calm down after one of these episodes, rose up above the others. He found himself focusing on Caduceus. His spectacles - _one_ . His bright hair - _two_ . The tree-shaped barrette that kept the heavy locks out of his face - _three_ …  

“Caduceus, have you ever heard of the Wildmother?” He found himself asking.

Caduceus cocked his head at the question. He hummed thoughtfully, considering his answer even if the question might be considered silly in this new world. “I don’t believe I have. Why? Who is She to you?”

Caleb chewed on that for a moment. A good distraction. “A couple of my dear friends had faith in Her. I do hope She has been looking out for them.” He didn’t mean for it to sound sad, but that’s how it came out. He could feel Caduceus’ eyes searching him, through him. He cleared his throat and continued, “You seem like someone She would like.” 

“Is that so?” Caduceus hummed as he thought, a quiet, relaxing sound. “Maybe I will look into Her.” There was something else, a gleam in his eyes that told Caleb that he wasn’t quite done thinking yet. “I just have a question for you, Mr. Caleb.” 

“ _Ja?_ ” Caleb thought back to the haversack and wondered if there was a pendant somewhere for the Wildmother, put in there at some point during their adventures by Caduceus or Fjord or Jester. If there is, he made a mental note to give it to Caduceus.

“How did you know my name?”

That snapped Caleb from his thoughts. He floundered for a long moment, eyes wide and avoiding Caduceus’ searching gaze. 

“I know that I introduced myself as Mr. Clay,” Caduceus said, in that tone he has when he’s starting to figure someone out. “And I don’t wear a nametag.”

Caleb’s eyes darted down to his apron anyway. _Scheisse_.

A plan formed in his mind. He cleared his throat and straightened himself on the barstool, adopting his other persona - the one his mind called _Bren_. Despite the panic screaming in his head, he forced his expression to be calm and unreadable, unshakable. 

“I believe Jester mentioned a Caduceus that worked here the other day,” Caleb said with full honesty. “And Nott called you ‘Duecy’ - it is not hard to put the pieces together.” He smiled, one of his cocked bullshit grins that he naturally sported when he was anxious and couldn’t show it. “I have a remarkable memory, you know.”

Caduceus inevitably noticed the change in his demeanor. Caleb almost expected to be challenged, to be called out, since Caduceus was so close on the trail anyway - but instead Caduceus backed away, accepting the defeat - for now. A glint in his eye told Caleb that this battle wasn’t over. 

Before they could continue this cold war, there was rapid steps down the stairs. Nott appeared, now wearing a simple yellow spring dress with her hair half pulled back into a gold barrette. A purse was slung over her shoulder and she twirled a ring of keys around her finger. 

“I promise I won’t be gone long, Duece,” Nott said, pulling out a rectangular device from her dress pocket. “Fjord says he’ll be here tonight, so you won’t be alone for long.” 

“That’s not a problem, Miss Nott.” Caduceus had gone back to his usual peaceful expression while he cleaned up their dishes on the kitchen island. “Take your time.”

“Ready to go?” Nott asked, tugging on Caleb’s sleeve towards the back door of the shop. He felt an answer was unnecessary. 

“Oh!” She paused, turning back to Caduceus. “Can you start another batch of bear claws? And remind me to order more caramel whiskey tonight, that particular macchiato has been popular. Thanks Duecy!” 

He held a thumbs up as Nott finished tugging Caleb out the door. 

Behind the building, there was a gravel lot with two of those large carriages - _cars_ \- parked beside each other. Nott lead him towards the smaller of the two, a shiny yellow car with two doors on either side but four seats, as Caleb noticed through the tinted window. 

Nott got in on one side of the car, and Caleb mirrored the action on the other side. The car was low to the ground and compact - his knees were as high as the dash once he sat down. For Nott, the car fit perfectly. He watched her pull a strap from the side of the seat and stretch it across her chest, fitting it into a lock on the other side. Caleb once again repeated the action, only struggling when trying to buckle it into the lock. 

He briefly wondered what the purpose was of such a contraption - it almost felt like a torture device - when Nott twisted a key beside the wheel and the car rumbled to life. His hand immediately latched onto the handle of the door. Nott laughed. 

“I’m not that bad of a driver, don’t worry,” Nott said, which wasn’t reassuring at all when he knew what she was like driving a carriage. 

Turns out, that very aspect has remained the same. Nott weaved between traffic on the streets with speeds that a horse and carriage could never dream of. Caleb found himself almost getting sick again at watching the faceless buildings pass by at such an alarming rate. 

Not soon enough, they pulled into a parking area outside a tall white building. A sign outside read _Zadash General Hospital_. 

They didn’t go in the front doors, but instead to a pair of double doors at the back of the hospital. Inside, there were many families waiting. Most were with children who appeared sick, others with masks over their mouths or nursing a bandaged body part. Nott lead him to a booth where a woman sat behind a glass sliding window. 

Nott chatted with the woman as she explained the situation. Caleb examined those lights above them again - it was still fascinating not to see a single flame, or anything suggesting the use of magic - when Nott tugged his sleeve to get his attention. 

“ _Ja?_ ” 

“Do you have insurance?” Nott asked. The woman behind the glass looked bored and unimpressed as she scanned him up and down. 

“I - what?” Caleb asked. “Insurance for what?” 

The woman sighed and jotted something down on a piece of paper as Nott nervously smiled. 

“Health insurance, Caleb,” Nott explained. “Never mind. I’ll pay the bill.” She rummaged through her purse before laying down a hard rectangular piece of plastic on the booth. 

Caleb was momentarily puzzled by this method of payment that the rest of Nott’s words didn’t register until the woman took the card and slid it into a device behind the booth. 

“You don’t have to—“

“Caleb, if you say I don’t have to do this for you again, I’m going to take my purse and whack you over the head with it,” Nott threatened. “And if you’re going to say it anyway, do it now while we’re in a hospital.”

Caleb wisely kept his mouth shut. 

Once they were seated in the waiting room, Caleb tried to keep occupied. Nott was tapping on her pocket device - a _smartphone_ \- which was what most other people in the room was doing. The outliers were kids playing with toys, or the elderly drow lady flipping through a magazine titled _Zadash Primary_ that featured a sultry drow on the front. 

Caleb spied an end table next to their bench littered with other magazines that featured similar figures on the front. Caleb picked one from random. 

 _Empirical Times,_ with a dragonborn on the front. Supposedly an actress by the short description beside her name. There were other descriptions all around the front page that felt arbitrary, but then again, Caleb didn’t really understand what they were about. Picking at whatever sounded the most interesting, he flipped to that page. 

 _Tal’Dorei Days: An Inside Scoop on the Whitestone Monopoly._ He skimmed the page, which described an anonymous reporter dropping secrets about Whitestone’s supposed influence across the pond. They must have grown into a strong trading power over the years. 

This was followed by theories over who’s dating the latest generation of De Rolos, which turns out to be famous actors or business people. The whole article felt too personal to be considered real news, in Caleb’s opinion. 

The following page was a full poster advertisement for a show that was shockingly familiar to him. It was that half-orc figure he saw on the poster in the spare room at Nott’s apartment, except this time he was at least wearing a school uniform. There were other figures around him this time: a red tiefling man, a twin pair of fiends, an aasimar with a vague halo over his head, and an androgynous drow in the front, looking vaguely bewildered. The title below was surrounded in hearts: _Xhorhas High School Host Club._ And below that: _Love is in the air. Who would you choose?_

Nott scoffed from beside him. “Jester used to be obsessed with that show. I’m thankful she moved out so I don’t have to hear her fangirl about it anymore.”

Caleb made some sort of affirmative noise before closing the magazine and tossing it back onto the end table.

During this, other people in the waiting room had slowly started trickling away as their names were called. Caleb only noticed this when he heard his own name spoken loud enough to startle him. 

Nott hurried him along through the corridors as they followed a human in scrubs. The next few minutes were spent with the nurse, as he introduced himself as, poking and prodding at Caleb and asking what felt like arbitrary questions, many he didn’t have an answer to. The most perplexing was a machine with a strap that wrapped around his arm and tightened as the nurse kept track of a clock-like device. When he asked Nott what it did when the nurse left the room, she gave him a look that was a mix of confusion and concern. 

“It’s just to measure your blood pressure.” Her concerned stare only deepened when Caleb didn’t hide his confusion in time. “Oh dear. You’ve been on the streets for a while, haven’t you?”

Caleb looked away. “I suppose.” 

He could feel Nott staring at him. There was something on the edge of this conversation, a tipping point, and he worried about what was on the other side. 

“But you sound so educated,” Nott said, low, as if talking to herself. “You must be. I think...” She trailed off, and Caleb chanced a glance at her. Her eyes were distant, her clawed hand clenching and unclenching on the strap of her purse. “I think you must be running from something.” 

Then she gasped as if just realizing she was speaking aloud and slapped a hand over her mouth. She turned to Caleb with wide, guilty eyes, and opened her mouth, an apology ready--

When the door swung open and in walked the doctor, who continued where the nurse left off, and Nott snapped her mouth shut. Her eyes kept darting to Caleb, a flush on her face and a strange gleam in her eyes. 

(And Caleb, Caleb hoped--)

The doctor shined a small light in his eyes and repeated a lot of questions that the nurse asked him. At that point, Caleb had finally learned what day it was, and managed to answer that correctly this time. The doctor didn’t seem entirely concerned once she was done, and diagnosed him with a mild concussion. She did tell Nott to bring him back if any other symptoms got worse. Before they were free to leave, however, the doctor pulled out gauze and a bottle of liquid. 

“The nurse made a note that you were bleeding, so we’ll take care of that for you,” She said. Caleb looked down at his bandaged knuckles, now with blood drying through the bandages. 

He tugged his sleeves up and allowed her to unwrap the gauze. Nott was still staring, but this time down at his arms. The scars were on full display, and even though Nott should be aware of them since she was the one who patched him up the night before, she seemed more shaken at the sight of them now. 

The doctor carefully cleaned the broken skin with whatever was in the bottle - strong alcohol, from the smell - before wrapping it up in fresh gauze, now with padding around the knuckles. He stretched his fingers experimentally when she was done. 

They were finally dismissed. Nott thanked the doctor and they went over concussion symptoms again while he was standing there waiting to go. Nott still appeared skittish, even as she rejoined his side, and they left the building. 

It was a tense, awkward silence on the drive back. Caleb busied himself by tapping on his knees and looked around at the contents of her car. There was a tree-shaped piece of paper hanging from the rearview mirror. There were a few coins in the cup holder, including a rolled up piece of paper, a pen, and a hair tie. His eyes wandered to the steering wheel, to her hands gripped on either side, and he noticed a thin pale line on her ring finger. 

Oh. 

“I have to wonder,” Caleb broke the silence. “This hospital visit must have been expensive. And you’ve taken so many people in your care without question.” Nott pursed her lips at that, but Caleb continued. “I just wonder, how do you manage to pay for it all?”

Her lip quirked up. “A long time ago, I got an inheritance. My Nan passed, and she was a goblin who hoarded everything - and I mean _everything_. Some Old World shit that was worth thousands. Kept it locked away for a rainy day…” She trailed off, glancing subconsciously to the pale line on her finger. “And my shitty ex-husband traded it for cash and spent it all on his vices. Drinking, smoking, gambling, fighting, you name it. Got it all back in the divorce though, and turned my life around.” She shrugged. “Served me right for marrying a goblin.” 

“That’s….really good for you,” Caleb said, genuine and too stunned to realize what he said right away, “I mean, it’s awful that he did that, but it seems like you’ve done well for yourself since then.” 

Nott shot him a grateful grin. “I know.” 

A moment passed, and she continued, “Now that I’ve shared a bit, you share a bit. Any special someone in your life?”

Caleb’s resolve for conversation withered. He looked out the window. “Ah, I’m afraid not. Not anymore.” 

Nott was watching him. “Oh?” A pause. “Shitty ex?”

Caleb chuckled bitterly. “Oh, I’ve scorned a lover or two.” He dragged on the moment until he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. “But, no. The one that mattered…. He has since passed.” 

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“It is alright.” 

There was a long awkward moment until Nott pulled into her parking space behind the brewery. She let the car idle as she tapped her fingers on the wheel, watching Caleb. 

“But, it’ll only get better from here, right?” She suggested, cocking a grin. 

Caleb couldn’t help but smile back. “I can hope so.” 

They shuffled back inside the shop where the kitchen smelled of divine sweet treats. Caduceus was still busy in the kitchen, hopping between stirring a bowl and checking the oven. As they entered, he picked his head up and greeted them. 

“I assume Mr. Caleb is all well?” Caduceus suggested, not breaking rhythm as he continued stirring a whisk in a bowl of batter. 

“As long as he doesn’t keep throwing up, he’ll be fine,” Nott said. She hung her purse on a hook at the back of the kitchen and pulled her hair into a bun. “Is it just you, Duecy?” 

“Oh, no,” Caduceus said, and gestured to the front with a dripping whisk. “I sent Mister--” 

He never finished, as a figure came out from the front of the shop. Wearing a uniform and apron, grey-streaked dark hair covered in a hair net, a smear of flour across his chest and coffee stains on his sleeves, lacking battle scars, was Fjord. 

“Is Nott back?” He asked, and Caleb could have thrown up a second time if his throat hadn’t stopped working. Fjord’s eyes locked onto Caleb and widened. 

In Caleb’s hopes and dreams, he had imagined Fjord would recognize him upon sight. That they would embrace and melt in each other’s arms, relish in having each other again after so long - after Fjord was taken from him. That Caleb would tell him what he had done, and possibly be chastised for being so daring, but none of that would matter because they’d be together again. 

Instead, Fjord raised a hand in greeting. 

“You must be Caleb. Caduceus told me about you.” 

And he shook the hand of the man he loved as if they were strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh my fav part of this chapter was the magazines lol. i will forever be proud of Xhorhas High School Host Club.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Gods (and alcohol) We Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn its been a while.   
> but i recently got tired of GO and came back to CR. i really missed this series, lmao.   
> hope ya'll enjoy, can't promise the next one will be out soon, but i hope i can work on my other CR works!
> 
> tumblr: @markiboss-voidghost. please support my kofi over there if you can!

“Wildmother? I could really use some guidance on this situation. Are you still around?”

“Traveller, I know you must be watching over Jester still. She was your favorite. I think. Any way you could help out a friend of hers?”

“Uh, Moonweaver?”

“Raven Queen?”

“Sarenrae?”

This was how Caleb’s nights usually went, and he regretted every second of not growing familiar with any particular deity. It could be helping him out right this moment. 

So far, he had not gotten an answer. 

It wasn’t like he was desperate anymore. Nott had been allowing him to stay in the spare bedroom - the poster above the bed had been carefully rolled away and shoved in the back of the closet - and he had started training to be a barista. Jester was his helpful instructor. She was an enthusiastic teacher with a flare for the decor, but she moved quickly. He found himself stumbling through a recipe as Jester focused on creating foam art on someone’s cappuccino. 

He’s seen Fjord around. He hasn’t had the courage to approach him again after their first meeting. It’s not like Caleb was trying to avoid him, but there was a deep internal struggle to reach out and touch him that raged inside Caleb every time he saw Fjord enter the room. It made him freeze on the spot, sometimes with tears pricking his eyes, and he had to escape before his emotions got the better of him. 

It was just his luck that Fjord tried to get his attention whenever he could. 

As Caleb struggled to fill his to-go cup with hot brewed coffee, he felt a presence behind him. His back straightened automatically as an arm reached across him, the phantom touch of a hand ghosting over his lower back. Fjord poured a jug of water into the top of the machine. 

“You’re out of water,” He explained, that sweet accent making its rightful comeback, shooting a half-cocked grin at Caleb. 

“Warum? Warum ich? Warum war ich verflucht, das zu ertragen?” Caleb murmured to himself as the cup in his tight grip crinkled. “Götter, hilf mir.”

Fjord’s grin faltered. “I....you’re welcome?”

Caleb turned and slipped away, tossing the crumpled cup and starting the order over.

His only reprieve was taking his break at the same time with Jester. He had since taken advantage of the benefits a barista at a coffee shop gets: free drinks. He sipped at his usual black coffee as he listened in on Jester and Beauregard’s conversation. They took their lunch at a shopping mall at the core of the city which, as Caleb looked around, was a popular spot. 

“So this fuckin’ douchebag hangs on the desk for like, two hours, asking these stupid questions,” Beauregard nearly shouted, but the cafeteria was already loud enough that it didn’t matter, “Like, ‘where’s the sci-fi section? Where’s the bathroom? Where’s the computer lab?’ like read the goddamn signs, being a dumbass isn’t gonna get you laid.”

“What a jerk,” Jester said, stirring at another chocolate-caramel iced concoction that Caleb hasn’t bothered the name of yet. “Did you tell him you’re not in the market for guys?”

“Should’a told him to take his ‘original novel on female sexuality’ and shove it up his ass,” Beauregard grumbled. “Almost as bad as that chick a few weeks back. But then you texted and I took my lunch about ten minutes early just to get out. He tried to invite himself on  _ my _ lunch. If he’s still there when I get back, I’m quitting.” 

“No you won’t,” Jester argued, “But if he is, I can kick his butt for you.” 

Beauregard threw a small, fond smile at her. “Thanks, Jess.” She paused to sip at her own cup, filled with ‘coke’ according to Jester, and turned her attention towards Caleb. “How’s training going?”

“Oh, I’m...learning.” That would be an understatement. Caleb was smart, but it has been a struggle to learn machinery that his previous life would never have dreamed of seeing. He had no idea there were so many machines meant to do regular tasks nowadays, but faster. If his world excelled in magic, this world excelled in engineering. 

“He’s actually a really fast learner!” Jester said, nudging Caleb’s shoulder. “He’s memorized the menu already and makes drinks really fast. It’s just the machinery he’s slow at, but I know it took me a long time to figure out how to make the perfect cappuccino.” 

Beauregard looked bored. “Yeah, yeah. I bet he’s great. Now, give the deets.” She leaned forward in her chair, a mischievous smirk on her face. “Have you dumped a coffee on someone yet? Has a PTA mom yelled at you? Has their drunk husbands yelled at you?”

“Caleb’s actually really good at customer service,” Jester noted. “Like, he’s so polite.” Her voice dropped to a hush as she leaned closer to Beauregard. “You could learn a thing or two, Beau.”

Beauregard glared and threw a rolled up bit of napkin at her. 

“Okay, fine,” Beauregard said, turning back to Caleb. “What story did Nott tell you about her husband?”

Caleb blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. “What?”

“She told me that her husband cheated on her with expensive, exotic hookers,” Beauregard continued. 

“She told me that her husband ran an illegal underground drug ring,” Jester added. “He’s supposedly rotting in jail in Rosohna or something.” 

“Oh.” His trip to the hospital earlier in the week came back to him. “Right. She told me he stole her fortune and spent it all on gambling.” 

“That’s a new one,” Beauregard noted. “How’d she afford her shop, then?”

“She said she got it all back in the divorce.” 

“Huh. I don’t know enough about divorce to dispute that.” 

“She told Fjord her husband died ten years ago,” Jester said, and Beauregard snickered. “He still believes it, I think.” 

“Why would she lie about that?” Caleb asked. He couldn’t squash down a part of him that was hurt that she would lie to him, even when he knew she wasn’t his Nott right now.

“I think something even worse might have happened to him,” Jester said, sympathetic. “If she has to lie about it. Don’t you?”

“I think she did a bad thing to him, and doesn’t want to admit it,” Beauregard declared. “So she makes him sound the bad guy.”

“Nott’s not a bad person,” Jester argued, pouting. 

“You can be a good person and do bad things, Jess.” 

Jester’s frown deepened and Caleb could see it crack Beauregard’s resolve. She looked a few seconds away from changing the subject and leave the awkward moment. Caleb sighed. 

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s nothing she can’t be forgiven for,” He added quietly.

Jester’s frown upturned into a grateful smile. Beauregard sent him a puzzled glance. 

“I think you’re right, Caleb,” Jester said. “Oh! Did you watch the new season of  _ Xhorhas High School Host Club  _ yet, Beau?”

Beauregard shrugged and looked away. “‘Course I did, but refresh me on it.” 

Jester let out a long, exaggerated sigh and began reciting the new season of her favorite show. This was followed by her thoughts on the romantic subplot and who the drow character should end up with. Of course, she sided with the handsome half-orc character, who posed as the strong silent type of the group. According to Jester, he usually had a small goblin hanging off of him to ‘offset his intimidating appearance’. It was a shame that the show tried to set up the main character with the head of the club, the tiefling man, she said. 

By the time she finished her long-winded explanation of the show, their lunch break was over. Beauregard escorted them back to the shop before heading back to the library. Jester paused at the door, tugging at Beauregard’s sleeve. “You’re still coming tomorrow night?”

Beauregard floundered for a moment, looking at the hand on her arm before stuttering out a little too loudly, “You bet! I’m bringing Fireball.” 

Jester giggled. “We have to make Fjord try a shot of that again!”

Something in Beauregard’s expression faltered, but she still smiled. “Definitely. I gotta run now, though, talk to ya later Jess.” 

“Bye Beau!” Jester waved before stepping into the shop and heading back behind the counter. 

Before Caleb could follow, he felt a hand tugging his sleeve. He stopped to find Beauregard watching him warily. 

“Hey…. you’ve been around Jester and Fjord a lot lately,” Beauregard said, her tone guarded. 

Caleb felt his blood freeze. Does she remember? Does she know enough to realize how much Fjord means to him? Has she remembered enough to know how much Jester had meant to her?

“This is kinda embarrassing,” Beauregard continued, not noticing his inner panic. “But, like. Do you know if they’re…?” She trailed off and gave him a look like he should know what she’s talking about. After a long pause, she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen. They dated a while back, and I know it’s over and done with but I want to ask Jessie out sometime and I gotta know if her and Fjord are thinking of patching things up. Can you just like, keep me posted?”

Caleb was stuck on ‘dated’ and struggled to get an answer out for a moment, not quite aware what she was asking him. “Of-of course.  _ Ja. _ ” 

Beauregard looked relieved. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

Then she saluted with two fingers before turning and heading back towards the library. Caleb lingered a moment longer in the door before finally dragging his feet back into rhythm, effortlessly sliding into place and going through the motions he’s near perfected in the past week. It was safer than being hyper aware of where Fjord and Jester were working, if they passed each other or lingered in the same work space a moment too long. 

He didn’t let himself think about it until that night, at the window of the guest bedroom, whispering pleas to the Gods and muffling curses in his pillow. 

He thought he was over this. At best, it was a minor issue in the past that he wasn’t hung up over. He never thought he’d have to deal with this bitter  _ jealousy  _ ever again. 

Before he and Fjord became serious, there was a generous amount of flirting between him and Jester. So much so, Caleb shoved his own pathetic crush down in order to help them be happy. He thought, at the time, that it was the way things were supposed to go. That he deserves to have these unrequited feelings. The least he could do was make sure they were never known. 

He wasn’t ever entirely sure what happened, but Jester backed away entirely. It was some time after their pirate days when he noticed it, and the possibility of Jester-and-Fjord disappeared. 

Caleb still didn’t entirely believe it. The way Jester had confided in him one night made him think she was showing her affection in a different way. That it would still happen. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. 

He didn’t think to address it any differently until Fjord had to corner him and bluntly admit his feelings. That was a rough night, one of their toughest battles, and while Caleb wasn’t…. _ present _ towards the end, it pushed Fjord over the edge of their tense song-and-dance. His confession still played with crystal clarity in Caleb’s mind. 

“I  _ appreciate  _ you,” Fjord had said with meaning, eyes deep and warm. “More than I have for anyone.” 

“But, uh—“ Caleb said at the time, fighting his urge to run. “What about Jester? I thought…”

Fjord shook his head before he could finish the thought. “Jester and I were never anything and we’re never going to be anything. I want you. Wanted you for a long time.” 

The weight of the confession said with that accent, a recent change that never failed to make a chill run down Caleb’s spine, had motivated him to finally put his doubts aside and tug Fjord into the searing kiss he always dreamed of. 

Caleb grazed a finger over his lips, a ghost of that kiss at the front of his mind. After that, his jealousy wasn’t an issue. Not that it had been a big issue to begin with. He was too consumed by his own self-loathing to even let himself be bitter about it. 

But this...this was new. These were strangers, not his friends - at least not yet, but even now, he’s started to doubt if they’ll ever be the same. A new world means new people. A world where Jester-and-Fjord pans out in the way it was supposed to. 

Caleb turned into his pillow and groaned. 

A gentle knock came at the door. 

“Caleb? Can I have your help with something?” 

Nott. Caleb got up and opened the door. “Yes?” 

Nott was wearing a different apron from the one downstairs. Her uniform apron was plain with the brewery’s title embroidered on the chest. This apron was bright pink and had white frills around the trim. There were a couple old dark stains that Caleb could spot. Her hair was pulled into a bun. 

“I need a hand in the kitchen if you don’t mind,” Nott said, gesturing down the hallway. 

Caleb nodded and followed her. There was a pot on the stove and a metal tray of cooked chicken breasts on the counter. She lead him to the stove. 

“I just need you to peel these eggs for me,” Nott said. She put an empty bowl on the counter next to the stove. “And put the peeled ones in this bowl.” 

This was familiar ground. Caleb had helped his  _ mutter _ cook since he was young, and on occasion, she would hard boil eggs. He dipped his hands in the pot, the water now gone tepid, and rolled the egg between his hands to crack the surface. Nott pulled a trash can from the corner of the kitchen and made it an easy reach for him to dump the eggshells in. 

While he worked through the pot, she took a large fork and pulled the stool in front of the counter. With practiced ease, she used the fork to shred the bits of chicken. 

“What’s all this for?” He asked. 

Nott held up a chicken strip. “Buffalo chicken dip.” She pointed the fork at the pot of eggs. “Deviled eggs. For the party tomorrow night.”

He felt he heard something about that at some point. “Party?” 

“Oh! I never told you, did I?” Nott pushed a pile of shredded chicken to the end of the tray. “I sometimes plan little get-togethers here. Just my employees and Beau, really. We eat food and get really drunk.” She looked to Caleb, sheepish. “They usually end up staying the night. Hope you don’t mind sharing a room.”

_ Depends on with who _ , he thought. “Of course not.” 

“Good, then.” Nott set the fork down and leaned against the counter, lifting a glass filled with some sort of dark whiskey. She took a sip without a flinch. “Want a drink?”

“I’m alright.”

“Got beer in the fridge, too.” 

“I think I’m good.” 

“Suit yourself.” She took a final, longer drink before setting the glass down and getting back to work. 

Caleb had gotten through half the pot of eggs. Nott finished the final couple breasts of chicken and kept sending him not-so-subtle glances. He was sure there must be a second motive to asking for his help. He waited for her to address whatever is on her mind. 

She dumped the shredded chicken in a dish with a lid before putting it away in the fridge. She mumbled something about a crockpot and hot sauce before shutting it and wiping her hands clean. 

“So, uh.” Nott anxiously sidled up beside him and grabbed an egg from the pot. Caleb thought it might just be to give her hands something to do. “I have a question, if you don’t mind my asking.” 

“I suppose it depends.” There was that bead of hope again. Maybe she had finally remembered and realized that she knew him from somewhere. Oh, how he wished for his dear friend back to guide him in this strange world. 

And oh, how that idea terrified him. 

“Right, right,” Nott said, fumbling with the eggshells. “I just noticed that, well. You seem new around here. Foreign. And I know you’re Zemnian, Jester told me, but all those Zemni folk seem awfully rich and educated - I don’t mean you’re not educated, you clearly are, it’s just that you don’t seem as smart as some of those lawyers - Gods, this is not coming out right.” She paused to take a deep drink from her glass. “What I mean is. You don’t seem familiar with a lot of common stuff around here. And that’s not a bad thing! I guess I’m just curious about where you’re from?” Her voice tightened at the end from embarrassment. She seemed ready to walk out of the room until Caleb chuckled. 

“I suppose you’re right. I am Zemnian, but… not from around here?” He shrugged. “I…don’t feel comfortable saying where. But yes. You are correct.” 

Nott looked relieved. “Oh, good. I was worried I was…profiling, or something.” She laughed. “I mean, I had to teach you how to use my phone!” 

She thankfully left out his cluelessness about the  _ TV _ . She showed him how to choose shows and now Caleb has to hold himself back from watching the new episodes of  _ Master Chef  _ without her. 

Who knew cooking could be so exciting?

“I have not had the experience,” Caleb said. “My family was not so fortunate.” 

Nott didn’t say anything, but she pursed her lips. He could tell his phrasing didn’t please her. 

“Anyway,” He continued. “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind.” 

Nott smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“Why do you lie about what happened to your husband?” His voice was quiet, trying not to startle her. The question made her frown anyway. 

“I don’t lie,” She started, but she saw his knowing expression and sighed. “Beau and Jester told you, didn’t they?”

Caleb nodded. Nott wiped her hands dry on her apron and refilled her glass. The pot was empty, the trash was full of eggshells, and the bowl had a dozen peeled eggs. 

“It’s really stupid,” Nott said, leaning on the counter. “You can’t tell anyone.” 

“Of course.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why, but I trust you.” She didn’t notice the way his breath caught at that. “I used to be happily married. We had a little house in a small village where everyone knew everyone. It was the perfect ‘white picket fence’ lifestyle. There was just one thing missing.” 

She took a drink. Caleb decided to take her up on the offer and headed for the fridge. There were these metal cans in the bottom drawer that he wasn’t familiar with, so he assumed that was the beer. He took the can and leaned against the opposite counter from her. 

“He wanted kids. I didn’t. So after a few months of arguing about it, we finally went our separate ways.” 

Caleb paused in his struggle to open the can. The tab was pulled sideways. “You didn’t?”

Nott shrugged. “I never felt ready. Still don’t.” She gestured to her apartment. “This place can’t hold a kid. I’d have to move.”

“But you’re so motherly to everyone else.” Caleb thought he had to pull the tab up, but his nails couldn’t get a grip. “It seems natural.”

“I just--” Nott paused, watching as Caleb tried to twist the tab. She huffed a laugh. “Come here.” 

Caleb went to her and she set her glass down to take his can. She pulled the tab up effortlessly, cracking the can open with a satisfying  _ pop _ . Caleb took his can back and sheepishly hid back in his corner of the counter. 

“As I was saying,” Nott said, teasing. “I’m not sure why I feel like this. Just the idea of having a kid with him…” Her face scrunched up as she thought. “It feels  _ gross _ .”

“Maybe it’s not that you don’t want a kid,” He suggested. “Maybe you just didn’t want one with him.” 

Nott thought about it. She nodded. “I did always want to be a mom when I was a kid. I had tons of baby dolls.” She looked down into her glass with a smile. “I named them all Luc.”

That moment, Caleb wanted to admit everything. He wanted to tell her how she’s an amazing mother, not only to him, but to a bright young boy. How she’s an incredible wife who would do anything for her family. How she’s not only a brave goblin named Nott, but a sweet Halfling woman named Veth. How there’s a reason that she feels so out of place. 

But he couldn’t muster it up. How does he even begin? Without her remembering, would she even believe him?

He sipped his beer and swallowed his words. 

Their conversation petered out. Nott snapped a lid on the bowl of hard boiled eggs and stuck it in the fridge before retiring to the living room. She offered a seat to Caleb to browse other shows before heading to bed, but Caleb declined. He left to his room and locked the door behind him. 

His books were in a stack beside the bed, Yasha’s journal on top. Caduceus’ armor gleamed in the low lamplight on the desk. His component pouch was beside it. His coat was draped on the back of the office chair. His old tunic and trousers were in a crumpled pile at the base of the bed - Nott had insisted he get some clothes and purchased a couple new t-shirts and pants for him as she pointed out how thin he was. He could swear the free food he was given was her trying to fatten him up. 

The only piece missing in his ensemble was the haversack. In it, he had almost everything else connecting him to his prior life: all of Jester’s personal effects, a collection of powerful objects that group deemed important, all of their gold, and--

And Fjord’s bag. 

_ Scheisse! _

There were too many important pieces of him there. Undoubtedly useless items, Fjord wasn’t one to keep his weapons tucked away, but the bag held sentimental items. The gifts Caleb left on his pillow at the end of the day. Letters they wrote to each other. Perhaps any other item that Fjord intended to gift him. 

He had to get the haversack back. 

Beauregard will be at the party tomorrow. Perhaps she would know where to find ‘Traci’. A part of him hoped that ‘Traci’ was actually Dairon with a disguise. That would mean he’d likely get the haversack back in exchange for a few answers. He had some questions for Dairon as well.

The other part of him feared that it was Dairon. That meant his spell had gone horribly wrong.

Suddenly much more tired than before, Caleb crawled underneath the comforter and slept.

-

He had almost forgotten his escapades on the first day he was dropped into this new world. How he stumbled across a coffee shop, a library, and… 

A convenience store. That he robbed. 

Caleb had grown familiar with the paper dollars the new world used and quickly learned how to count it. Instead of fiddling with the machines in the back, he found he was fastest at the register. Counting change became second-nature, he had memorized what each button does, and being polite had been built into him since he was young.

Fortunately, he also gained a few skills in running and hiding in the last few years of his life. 

He was lucky that he was filling an order as the police strolled into the shop. Nott scrambled up the stool behind the counter to greet them. Caleb had his back to the front as he filled a cup with black coffee - one the simpler orders he could do - and collected a dozen fresh bourbon chocolate chip cookies. He wasn’t paying full attention until he heard a piece of their conversation and froze. 

“...we’re following up on the robbery at the  _ 11-7 _ two blocks down. If you can give us a moment of your time to answer a couple questions for us…” 

Caleb glanced over his shoulder. The two figures were dressed in uniform, vastly different from the guards that were usually in charge of criminal activity. They didn’t even have armor. He was still sure, however, that if they saw him, he was in trouble. 

He set the black coffee and a box of a dozen cookies down on the counter, called whatever name was on the cup in a gruff voice that he hoped didn’t resemble his usual tone, and hurried to the back. 

He let out a slow breath once the door was shut behind him. Caleb chanced another glance out the plastic window of the kitchen door. The figures were still there, talking with Nott as a line of customers waited behind them. 

“Oh, wonder what the police are here for.” 

Fjord’s voice over his shoulder startled Caleb to jump away from the door. Fjord placed a light hand on Caleb’s arm to steady him, already mumbling an apology, when Caleb flinched away. That caused Fjord to snap his jaw shut, looking unsure of what to do next. 

“Sorry,” Caleb murmured. “I can be a bit…flighty.” 

Fjord cocked an uncertain grin. “Right. Sorry.” 

Caleb couldn’t help softening. Fjord’s real accent stripped away a layer of his confidence, making him sound more vulnerable than he would with Vandren’s accent. Caleb preferred it that Fjord didn’t feel the need to hide behind it in this world. 

He realized he was staring when he disantly heard Fjord say something.

“Oh uh, what was that?” Caleb asked, bringing himself back to the present. 

“I just asked if you wanted to try a drink mix I put together,” Fjord repeated, rocking nervously on his feet. “It has rum. You look like you might need a drink.” A pause, then, “We’re allowed to drink on the clock. Actually, Nott encourages it.”

“Oh. Sure, yeah.” It didn’t look like the police were leaving anytime soon, anyway. 

Caleb followed Fjord further in the kitchen that was momentarily empty. He remembered something about Caduceus leaving to pick up a shipment. There was something chocolate scented in the oven, and the coffee maker had a full pot. 

“Check this out.” Fjord poured equal parts amaretto and rum in a mug, filled the rest with hot coffee, and topped it off with whipped cream and almond shavings. He held the steaming mug up to Caleb with an anxious half-smile. “Not too complicated, not too basic. Give it a try.” 

Caleb took the warm mug and cautiously sipped. Most of the lattes that Jester orders are ridiculously sweet, or the coffee that Nott orders has way too much alcohol. This was a pleasant balance between both. His satisfied hum made Fjord grin.

“Good, right?” Fjord filled a second mug with the same ingredients. “I call it the ‘Damali Brew’. Gonna have to convince Nott to put it on the menu, though.” 

“I’m sure she will like it,” Caleb said. “Although I worry she might try to add more rum.” 

Fjord chuckled. “Oh, probably. She keeps a flask somewhere to add spice to every drink she orders.” 

Caleb huffed out a laugh, not missing the way Fjord’s smile seemed to soften, half-hidden by his mug. It was little moments like that when Caleb expects something to change. A flash of a memory, or recognition. But he is disappointed every time. 

“I, uh. Used to think you hated me,” Fjord said, breaking Caleb’s thoughts. “Not like you were mean or anything, it just felt like you avoided me or something. Hate to think I did something wrong and never knew what it was.” 

“Oh.” Caleb took another sip to stall time. “It’s…It isn’t you. I didn’t intend to avoid you. I apologize.” 

“...Okay. Good,” Fjord said. His gaze went down into his mug, but he seemed relieved. “I always tried to start a conversation, but it never seemed to go well. I honestly don’t know much about you besides what Nott or Caduceus has said.”

“Good things, I hope.” 

Fjord chuckled. “Of course. But I’m still curious.” He looked back up and there was an intensity in his gaze, something that Caleb had never seen before. 

“Right.” Caleb looked away, cleared his throat. “You will be attending Nott’s party tonight,  _ ja? _ We can talk more then.” 

Fjord smiled, relieved. Their conversation was cut short as the kitchen doors swung open and Nott walked in. Her arms were crossed and she did not look happy as she eyed Caleb.

“You’re on kitchen duty.” She pointed at him, then shifted to Fjord. “You’re taking the front for the rest of the day.” 

“Um, alright.” Fjord gave Caleb one last half-smile before pushing past the doors and taking over the register. 

Once Fjord was gone, Nott stood in place with a disappointed stare. Caleb felt like a kid caught red handed. He rocked anxiously in place. 

“The police just told me something interesting,” Nott said. “A middle-aged homeless man with shaggy ginger hair and beard robbed a convenience store a few days ago.” Her foot tapped the tile floor. “Do you happen to know anything about that?” 

Caleb curled in on himself. “Uh.”

“Because if you don’t,” Nott began, her words slow and full of purpose. “I understand. Whoever it was must have had no other choice. And I’m sure they won’t do it again.” 

Caleb cleared his throat. “Of course.” 

Nott smiled. “On an unrelated note, we should get you a haircut.”

-

Caleb had always given himself haircuts. The last time someone else had taken a blade to his hair was back in his Academy days, when he, Astrid, and Eodwulf would take turns. And then there was Yasha when she trimmed his beard for him. Otherwise, it had been himself. 

So the barbershop that Nott took him to after work was a tad bit intimidating. The hairdressers did not have many clients that day, so Caleb found a seat almost right away. A half-elf with a complicated set of earrings on each ear draped a plastic cape around his front. 

“So, what would you like today?” She asked, sliding a hand into his hair. At Nott’s insistence, he had finally figured out the bath that morning. His hair smelled like cucumbers. 

But Caleb didn’t know how to answer. He looked to Nott helplessly. 

Nott pulled a magazine from her bag and flipped to a dog-eared page. She showed it to the hairdresser. “Something like this would be handsome, don’t you think?”

His hairdresser nodded. “Simple but stylish. Indeed.” 

Nott deliberately shut the magazine before he could look at whatever she had picked out for him. Trusting her decision - or perhaps resigned to his fate - Caleb leaned back in the barber chair and allowed the half-elf to get to work. 

She was very gentle as she clipped chunks of his hair off with a small pair of scissors. He hadn’t realized how much he’d let his hair go since he jumped time. It had been the least of his concerns until now. 

In the mirror, he had a hard time trying to tell what look he was going to be given. Right now, it looked like a hacked bush. 

Then the hairdresser held up a handheld machine which buzzed to life as she slid a switch. Without warning, she pressed the vibrating machine against the back of his head. On instinct, Caleb flinched away. 

“Oh!” The hairdresser said, giving Caleb time to relax again. “Sorry hon, didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Oh, ah, it’s alright,” Caleb said, and did his best to keep still. His back was tight like a coil, ready to spring at the first sign of danger. 

The hairdresser slowly ran the vibrating machine against the back of his skull. It didn’t hurt like Caleb expected it to, just mildly uncomfortable. He could feel it shave what hair was left around the sides of his head. 

When she was finally finished with the odd machine, his hair had a fade up the sides while his top was styled with a slight wave. Caleb was struck with an image of Fjord’s old hairstyle, way back when they first met. Instead of the dreadful sickness he expected from this, Caleb smiled. 

“It’s perfect,” He said. 

The half-elf hairdresser ran a comb through his beard. “Would you like a trim here?” 

Caleb tilted his chin in the mirror. His facial hair has grown long enough to start curling. And it’s gotten itchy. “You can just shave it off clean.” 

If Nott appeared disappointed by that, she didn’t say anything about it. 

“You look very handsome now, Caleb,” Nott said once he was free from the hairdresser cloak. “Not that you weren’t already, of course.” 

Caleb chuckled. “ _ Danke _ , Nott. Did it cost too much?”

“Just a twenty,” Nott said. She rolled her eyes at Caleb’s frown. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll dock it off your next paycheck.” 

Squeezing into Nott’s tiny car, they made their way back to the shop, which has long since closed its doors for the evening. As they drove through town, the central park had been closed off with ropes as a team was setting up colorful tents. Although most of the view was blocked by a few moving trucks, Caleb still pressed his face against the window to spot anything purple or white. 

“The carnival will give us a lot of business,” Nott said with a knowing smile. “Lots of folks come by for it. But I can give you the day off to check it out if you want. It doesn’t come into town often.” 

Caleb took a steadying breath. “I would appreciate it, Nott.” 

Once they got back to Nott’s apartment, Nott began anxiously preparing for the get-together. She fluttered around the kitchen, preparing her dip, a fruit platter, deviled eggs, and multiple bottles of alcohol that were stored in places in the kitchen. Caleb quietly took his leave to the spare bedroom when it was clear he would only get in the way. 

There was a mirror behind the bedroom door that Caleb paused to look into. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was stiff with whatever gel the hairdresser put into his hair - it made him smell like the cologne that Nott bought for him. He mussed up the heavy wave over his forehead until he felt a bit more like himself. 

Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Caleb whirled around. He rubbed his eyes to be sure he was seeing right. 

The embarrassing poster he had carefully tucked away in the back of the closet was hung back up above his bed, looking no worse for wear. Maybe a little crumpled around the edges like it was handled roughly. 

Caleb wondered briefly why Nott would bring this poster back out - either to prank him or she somehow figured out the feelings he was harboring for his coworker - but then he spotted something shining on the bedside table. Curious, he approached. 

It was a very familiar symbol that he thought was lost to the haversack. A pendant with a set of open doors. Caleb snatched it up and looked around, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of a green cape. 

Caleb smiled. “I am glad you are still looking after her.”

He took the following silence as agreement. 

-

The first to arrive at the party was Caduceus, carrying a platter of vegetables and his own personal tin of tea. The moment he arrived, he offered any assistance to Nott as they prepared for the others. None of this was surprising to Caleb. 

“You clean up well, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus said, giving him a slow smile. 

“Doesn’t he?” Nott agreed, her voice shrill from her spot on the kitchen counter. “I chose that haircut for him! I take all the credit!” 

Caleb chuckled. “ _ Ja _ . All her doing.” 

The next to arrive was Jester and Beauregard, who brought a large box of donuts and multiple bottles of alcohol respectively. 

“Cay-leb!” Jester greeted. She dug through the box for a particular donut before rushing up to him and holding it out. “I saw this and thought of you! You’re a cat person, aren’t you?”

She held out a small round donut glazed with orange frosting. Small almonds pressed into the top made it appear to have cat ears, and black frosting drew a cat-like face in the center. 

Slowly, Caleb grinned. “ _ Ja,  _ yes, I am. Thank you Jester.” 

He made a mental note to thank the Traveller later. 

Jester also brought a ‘game console’. From what Caleb understood, it was like the television, but interactive. Jester instantly pulled him up when he couldn’t hide his curiosity and shoved a remote in his hand. 

“Just follow the dance moves!” Jester instructed, and that was all she told him. 

Caleb had never heard the songs she picked out, but they were so much more louder and faster than any song he had ever heard. He couldn’t name half the instruments in the ensemble. The dance moves were just as fast and complicated, and he spent most of the time just trying to understand what the glowing figure on screen was doing. Jester clearly had much more experience with this game than he did. 

“Cay-leb! C’mon, you’re losing!” Jester encouraged as she flawlessly executed a complicated dance move. 

“Pick it up Caleb!” Beaureagard added where she lounged on the couch. Nott was stifling giggles into a pillow. 

Even though their little party is still incomplete, Caleb felt a pure  _ rightness  _ about this moment, like the pieces were finally coming together. He was getting his family back. 

The song was coming to an end when the door opened again, and in walked Fjord. He gave a tentative wave as he entered, just as Jester let out a squeal. 

“Fjord!” She called. “Come dance with me! I kicked Caleb’s butt!” 

Without a chance for a proper greeting, Caleb was sent to the couch while Fjord took his spot in front of the television. Jester started a new song and they were off. At least Fjord was marginally better at it than he was. 

Beauregard offered him a drink. When he gave it a suspicious look, she rolled her eyes. 

“It’s just coke,” She said. 

Caleb took that to mean ‘not alcoholic’. 

This time, he was expecting that odd feeling with the other sodas he tried. The little bubbles on the surface of this dark drink gave it away. The taste was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, but not unpleasant. He sipped at it warily as he watched the dance contest go down in front of him. 

Glancing beside him, he noticed Beauregard’s lips pressed tightly together as she watched Fjord and Jester. He could tell what was on her mind, but he was so unsure of it himself that he didn’t want to discuss it yet. 

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Beauregard, you remember Traci? The one who defeated me?”

Beauregard shot him an amused smirk. “Yeah, ‘course I remember who knocked you on your ass.” 

“Right.” Caleb huffed a laugh. “Do you happen to know where she’s staying?”

Beauregard’s grin fell. “If you’re mad that she beat you, that isn’t the right way to go about it.” 

“Oh, no, no!” Caleb shook his head. “I don’t mean it like that. I...there was a reason why I wanted to win that night. There was a pink bag in the prize pool and it contains items that mean a lot to me. It was stolen from me that night. I just want to see if Traci will give it back to me.” 

Beauregard nodded and took a contemplative sip from her cup. “I heard she doesn’t have a permanent place. Sorta just popped up in town, not sure how long she plans on staying. You could try the Pillow Trove.” 

Caleb wondered why he didn’t think of that familiar place sooner. “ _ Danke _ , Beauregard.” 

“ _ Fjord _ , what are you  _ doing?” _

Jester squealed with laughter as Fjord poorly attempted one of the moves on screen. His hips jutted out awkwardly, his leg kicked out off-beat. He swiped a hand out to knock Jester’s shoulder as she teased him. 

Fondness swelled in Caleb’s chest. He realized belatedly that he was smiling goofily, and failed to hide his expression behind a hand. It was too late; he caught Beauregard watching him with a slow smirk. He felt his face heat up as he pointedly refused to meet her eye again. 

Once Jester thoroughly wiped Fjord on the dance floor, she insisted on pulling Beauregard up from the couch. Beauregard only put up a small fight before resigning to Jester’s side. 

“Are you ready to be knocked from your throne, Jess?” Beauregard teased. 

Jester stuck her tongue out. “You can try Beau! But I’m really, really good at this.”

As Fjord stepped away, Caleb opened his mouth without knowing what he was going to say - but he never got a chance when Fjord continued passed him to the kitchen. Caleb sunk back into his seat. 

A new presence took place beside him. Caleb looked up, and up; Caduceus sat with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of fruit and vegetables. 

“Would you like a blackberry?” Caduceus offered. 

“ _ Ja _ . Thank you.” Caleb took a berry and popped it in his mouth. He couldn’t help his eyes trailing after where Fjord disappeared into the kitchen. Nott was still engrossed with watching the dance-off, so he must be helping himself to the food. Caleb had an urge to get up and find out. 

When he glanced back at Caduceus, he found he was already being watched. Caleb hastily turned back to the front of the room. He’d been caught out twice now. He was getting careless. 

“Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus said, in a voice low enough that only Caleb could hear over the music. “I’d like to muse over something with you, if you don’t mind.” 

Caleb stalled by taking a drink from his cup. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Clay?”

The corner of Caduceus’ lips quirked up. “I had a strange dream the other night. I can be a little superstitious, so I’d like to know what you think of it.” He tapped the side of his teacup while he pulled his thoughts together. “It started by looking out from the top of a tower. A tree grew from the stones, where little globules of light hung from its branches. It looked...magical.” His expression took on a far away, whimsical look as he recalled the details of his dream. 

Caleb watched, silent. He was waiting for something; a moment where everything came back to Caduceus and Caleb wasn’t alone in this. He held his breath and waited. 

Then Caduceus shook his head. “Where was I? Oh, yes. I was there, looking down over a dark city. And you were there, too, Mr. Caleb. You looked different, but not that different. You had longer hair, and an orange cat curled around your shoulders. You were playing that string game...cat’s cradle, I believe. But the more I watched, the more I realized that the strings were made of flame. Like you were weaving fire between your fingers. I didn’t think it was strange at the time, but dreams make you believe odd things, don’t they?” There was a genuine question at the end, as if Caduceus was asking for something else entirely. His eyes watched Caleb intently. 

He could tell Caduceus everything right now. He could blurt out the truth and admit what he’d done, what he’s seen, what he’s sacrificed to get here. There was little doubt that Caduceus would believe him. He would be able to tell that Caleb was telling the truth. 

But now wasn’t the time. Not yet. 

“Indeed,” Caleb agreed. 

It wasn’t what Caduceus was looking for, though. He frowned and took a sip from his tea, eyebrows pinching together in rarely-seen frustration. Caleb looked away to avoid showing anything else. He hoped Caduceus would be patient enough to wait for a full explanation. 

He wasn’t ready for that yet. 

Anything else was interrupted by Nott lining up shot glasses on the coffee table. She lined up three, then looked to Caleb with a raised eyebrow. 

Caleb waved her off. “I’ll pass.” 

Nott shrugged. She began filling up the first four. 

“Fjord!” She yelled. “Beau! Get your shots!” 

Beauregard gave Jester a high-five as they finished their dance-off. As Beauregard grabbed one of the shot glasses, her skin flushed with the intense work-out she just finished, Caleb caught Jester subtly admiring the shine along Beauregard’s collarbone. He hid an amused grin behind his cup. 

Fjord arrived from the kitchen with a paper plate piled high with everything Nott had prepared. Privately, Caleb noticed that Nott appeared smug and proud about that. The three of them lined up to take the first round of shots. 

Caleb watched, more intently than he meant to, as Fjord lifted a glass and clocked it back. He watched as Fjord’s throat bobbed and recalled how many times he’s pressed heated kisses to that jaw, nipped at the skin there. He felt a hand unconsciously rise to his throat, where the scarred mark of a claim bite lay hidden under the collar of his tunic. 

He looked away before he could lose himself. 

Beauregard pat Fjord on the shoulder once they slammed down their glasses. “We gotta get out that Fireball.” 

Fjord smiled weakly at her. 

The rest of the night went by much the same way. Nott would pass out shots in between Jester’s games. She’s thankfully moved on from dancing to other competitive games, much more involved with button-pressing, which Caleb became quite good at once he knew what each button did. And as his companions drank more during the night. 

Eventually, though, he went to seek a private corner, away from the excitement. As much as he loved being around his friends again, he had to take some time to recharge. He slipped away while the others were engulfed in a game, and no one noticed. 

He did pass the empty bathroom on the way to the spare bedroom. Distantly, he recalled Fjord saying he needed to use it, while rushing out of the room. Caleb thought Beauregard had fed him too much Fireball. 

As he cracked the door to his room open, he found where Fjord had really gone. 

He had pulled a chair from Caleb’s desk to sit by the open window, where Caleb usually sat when he was trying to clear his thoughts. Fjord started when Caleb entered and smiled sheepishly. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to intrude,” Fjord said. “Just needed some air.” 

“It’s fine,” Caleb said, wondering if he could deal with being alone with Fjord right now. “I could use a little time away from the group, too.” 

Caleb took a seat on the edge of his bed, facing opposite of Fjord. He cast a curious glance his way and cleared his throat. 

“Ah, do you mind if I ask you something?” Caleb asked. 

Fjord raised an eyebrow. “Depends, I suppose.” 

Caleb failed to squash down a smirk. “Beauregard mentioned that you and Jester used to date. I...couldn’t help noticing how close you two are. Is that a relationship you plan on rekindling?” 

Fjord stared at him for a moment. Then cracked a grin. “Is Beau worried I’ll take Jester from her?” He chuckled. “No, no. Jessie and I are friends. We broke up years ago. And anyway, I think she’s been trying to get Beau’s attention for months now.” 

Caleb couldn’t help a slow grin. “ _ Ja _ . Beauregard was worried.” 

Fjord laughed and went back to watching the stars. “You can let her know that she doesn’t need to be.” 

“I will.” 

Caleb followed his gaze out the window. For a moment, he let the cool breeze of night wash over him. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts rest. 

When he opened them again, he felt eyes on him. Fjord was staring. 

“Sorry,” Fjord repeated. His voice was quiet. “I feel like I know you.” He glanced away, embarrassed. “Seen you, or something.” 

Caleb watched him. “I get that a lot.” 

Fjord didn’t continue, as much as Caleb wished he did. He continued to look out the window. Caleb eventually did the same. In the distance, a tower flashed a red light. 

“What is that?” Caleb asked. He always noticed it, but never had the opportunity to bring it up. 

Fjord cast him a glance. “A phone tower, probably. Kinda looks like a lighthouse, doesn’t it?”

Without understanding what a phone tower does, Caleb nodded. 

“There’s one on the harbor in Port Damali,” Fjord continued. “I’ve been up at the top. It’s the perfect spot to watch the sun rise over the ocean. Beautiful.” 

“Sounds romantic,” Caleb said without thinking. 

Fjord smiled. “It is.” 

His eyes are the same deep gold as Caleb remembered. In the darkness of night, they shine like molten bronze. Fjord always told him that his eyes were like shallow ocean pools on a sunny day. It had always pleased Caleb that they seemed to have pieces of each other with them everywhere they went. No matter how far apart. 

He knew it would happen eventually. He would slip. These memories that he has of who these people used to be would eventually make him forget. 

When Caleb started to gravitate forward, he almost stopped himself. The only detail that kept him from pulling away and apologizing was that Fjord was doing it, too. 

Although, they had barely broke into each other’s space before Fjord’s eyes widened. He clapped a hand over his mouth as an unpleasant gurgling came from his stomach. In a flash, Fjord stood and ran out of the bedroom, where moment later, violent hurling could be heard from the bathroom. 

Caleb didn’t know if he should be relieved or disappointed. 

Making his way back to the main room, he found Beauregard passed out on the couch. A blanket was tossed over her. Nott was similarly passed out on the armchair. Jester and Caduceus was stuck cleaning up the plastic cups and plates and spilled rum. 

“Was that Fjord that just ran to the bathroom?” Jester asked with a sympathetic smile. “I think Nott keeps a cot under the spare bed. He probably shouldn’t drive home.” 

“Do you need help cleaning up?” Caleb asked. 

“We’re fine, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus said. “If you can take care of Fjord, that will be enough.”

“We usually pick stuff up after these parties,” Jester said. “Nott is nice enough to host them, might as well help clean up.” 

“Right,” Caleb said, slow. “I think Fjord might like some water.” 

With a glass in hand, he waited outside the bathroom until the sounds of hurling died down. In that time, Caduceus and Jester took their leave, wishing Caleb a goodnight and an apology to leave him alone in this. Caleb insisted he would be fine. 

He hoped he would be. 

Eventually, Fjord opened the door again. He was swaying on his feet and looked more drunk than he did earlier. Caleb gave him the glass of water and let him freshen his breath before leading him back to the bedroom. 

He yanked back the sheets and helped tuck Fjord in. Fjord sluggishly curled against the pillow. He sloppily pat Caleb’s cheek. 

“Thanksss,” He mumbled. Then promptly passed out. 

Caleb smiled with dumb fondness. 

It took about twenty minutes, but he found the cot under the bed. It was already set up with a blanket and pillow, probably for when emergency guests stayed over and no one could prepare a bed with alcohol in their system. 

Shutting off the lights throughout the apartment, Caleb tucked in and tried to sleep. 

Tried. 

It was proving to be difficult when he could hear Fjord’s slumbering breaths on the bed next to him. All he could think of was all the nights he’s spent in the same bed, listening to Fjord’s deep breaths that lulled him to sleep. Now, it just brought a longing ache to have someone in his arms. 

It kept him awake long enough that he wondered if he should grab one of his books and review his spells. At least it would give him something to do besides staring at a dark ceiling. He was about to do so when he heard Fjord’s sleeping body suddenly shift. His breathing picked up; he turned and tossed in the bed. Caleb stayed still, hoping he’d either relax back into sleep or throw up whatever didn’t get tossed up earlier. 

Suddenly, Fjord sat up in bed with a gasp. He choked, and started violently coughing, as if he had choked on his cup of water. He took a long few minutes to catch his breath. Then, silently, he slinked out of bed and left the room, a sliver of yellow stretching across the floor as the bathroom light flickered on. 

Caleb thought he smelled the salty brine of sea water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~German~~ Zemnian translations:  
> “Why? Why me? Why was I was cursed to endure this? Gods, help me.”
> 
> 'Damali Brew' recipe: https://www.thespruceeats.com/cafe-caribbean-cocktail-recipe-760506


End file.
